


come through

by masongrey



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Battle of the Seasons tour fic, Eventual Smut, M/M, Misunderstandings, SO SORRY, So much angst, Tour Bus, What else is new, alaska is moody about sharon, and pussywillow, bianca and courtney and adore have a little drag family, bianca is a damn seamstress, continental breakfasts, drug and alcohol references and use, honestly i do, i don't know what the hell i'm doing here, i really love ru though, i use the work fuck a lot, i'm from azusa bitch, ivy is shy, katya calls pearl oyster, kayta provides life, lots of tasteful public nudity, not gonna rupaulogize, pearl is bae as always, pearlet, post season seven BOTS tour, sorry bout it, sorry kids, the angst is real, the bus waits for no queen, this is somewhat cynical of how unfairly i feel pearl was treated for the majority of drag race, violet says bitch quite a bunch, willam and detox argue about tucking like wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongrey/pseuds/masongrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn't matter where Violet  is. Not now, not ever. <i>They</i> had been a brief mash-up of one too many late night hotel room romps and biting back moans in broom closets and making out in dressing rooms and talking and laughing and drinking and fighting and drinking and drinking and lies and then they had been over.<br/>---<br/>Or the one where Pearl and Violet have a messy history and an uncertain future, Courtney and Bianca are in makeout love, Katya gifts us all with sage advice and Adore's a fuckin' Libra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hiding behind Pearl

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lads and lasses, this is my first fic so be gentle please :)  
> disclaimers:  
> 1\. I own nothing.  
> 2\. No betas were involved in this.  
> 3\. This is a story about drag queens. If you don't like the topic, the door is to your right. Beat it queen.  
> 4\. There are lots of different ways to use pronouns when characters have such fluid senses of gender. To avoid confusion I stuck to “he” when out of drag/getting out of drag and “she” when in drag. The only exception to the rule is Pearl at the beginning of the story.  
> 5\. The opinions in this story are made up, they do not represent the actual opinions of any actual people, except me.  
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the beginning, the beginning

Adore-motherfucking-Delano.

She's both close enough to touch and far enough away that she's almost on another planet entirely, a stark shadow against the pulsing lights.

She's different. Nothing Matt's ever seen. And Matt does drag in New York. He's seen it all.

Matt leans back on the stool, tapping the tip of his nose with one finger. It's his way of grounding himself when he's her. Pearl. (Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

Pearl: the tall, swanky, unapologetic Stepford wife bombshell. She represents everything he's ever wanted but never had and everything he's spent his life working so hard to earn. Acceptance. Respect. Tits.

The tits part is mostly a joke. He's quite fine with his smooth chest and dick thank you very much. Not that he ever really bothered padding Pearl's tits to begin with. Or tucking tightly either. Even here, surrounded by the best of the goddamned best there's always been something flaze-da about his approach to drag.

_Trust me Pearl. There's a clear difference between effortlessness and apathy. They're just too fucking stupid to see it. Own it bitch._

_(Violet always had been his fiercest defender.)_

Matt bites back on something acidic that's rising in his throat.

The RuPaul's Battle of the Seasons Tour. Tune in to a large city near you to watch little Pearlie run with the giants of drag.

Every other blink he questions the fact that he's even really here, even awake, even breathing, everything is so surreal. The dresses shine, the tour bus is air conditioned, and the breakfasts are continental.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

Pearl hadn't won season seven. Honestly hadn't been expecting to. Not with Violet to contend with. Not with the half-crazed measures the other queen loved to take to get what she wanted. Not with her impeccable fashion and keen eye for design. Not with that unmistakable fire burning in her eyes. Because you can only pretend to be cut from the same cloth as Violet Chachki for so long and they all knew it. But somehow, here he is. Pearl: a fan favorite for the ages.

It's weird, the way the whole country has fallen in love with the her part of him when really, no one knows him. Or her.

Ru likes to think that she knows him. Or at least, she thinks she has him pinned. She certainly had quite a fun time on the show, painting him into a sleepy lizard-boy just playing at drag with an unshakably deep, in-the-bones sort of laziness.

At first he tried to fight it. It being the relentless, one-dimensional caricatures of his personality, the attacks from judges and queens and fans alike, the accusations of apathy, of privileged prissiness.

The memories fly back in droves. The twenty minute battle in the werk room with Ru herself that was edited down to one minute and thirty seconds of pure, utter garbage. The bullshit and bullying he had been forced to deal with from one of his idols, on national television. The way he had risen to his feet and fled, hot tears streaming down his face, not a minute afterward. The way a few short, sharp words with Violet Chachki in the back hallway 30 seconds before he had fucking walked off made him turn around, buck up and decide to just take it. And take it he did. Niceties were never Violet's cup of tea. They weren't Michelle Visage's either.

(That was the first time Violet had really spoken to him, certainly not the last.)

Pearl's shell. They tried to force it open, spread her flightless body on the pavement and smash her into the runway with cigarette butts and never-ending reads.

But Pearl was hard inside, and Pearl was smart. So Pearl had a “revelation”. And after her turning-point, Pearl was good. Pearl coined a catchphrase. Pearl smiled and shone and pretended to snore whenever it was asked of her. Pearl played the game. And sleepy little Pearl made it all the way to the final three, motherfucker. And never once did she let that shell crack, drop or fall.

He's supposed to be focused, but beneath the makeup, the wig, the dress, his fingers itch for Violet. _Jason_. Before he can stop himself, he's looking around for Jason, knowing full well that he won't be found. Matt's chest aches a little from the empty space Jason never fails to leave behind. It can begin to feel like a tear in the space-time continuum if Matt lets it, a vacuum that no one can seem to fill. Whether the ache is one of sadness or one of relief, he never can tell. Matt has always been too fond of poisonous things. Cigarettes, booze, Violet Chachki. The boy named Jason who wears Violet Chachki's skin.

Jason was never too fond of commitment.

Then again, Matt wasn't either.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

It shouldn't matter where Jason is. Not now, not ever. _They_ had been a brief mash-up of one too many late night hotel room romps and biting back moans in broom closets and making out in dressing rooms and talking and laughing and drinking and fighting and drinking and drinking and lies and then they had been over. And now they were here.

Correction, now he was here. Alone. Vi, egomaniac that he was, decided he had nothing to prove to anyone that he hadn't already proven. So he made an executive decision to sit out of the Battle of the Seasons tour.

Matt couldn't help but give in to the feeling that Pearl had only been asked here because both Ginger and Violet had been too far up their own asses to participate.

He could only imagine what the fiery Violet Chachki would say if she could see him now; cowering on a stool, just Matt hiding behind Pearl, eyes glazed as he stares at Adore stomping fearlessly around on the stage.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

He's been dreadfully quiet the whole tour. Stick a fairly lax and withdrawn queen in or on a room, bus, or stage with 14 of the world's fiercest, loudest and most boisterous cross-dressers and throw Michelle Visage in the mix and what do you expect?

He's an outcast here and he fully accepts it.

He hardly even knows any of their boy names. He's just been referring to them all as their drag characters, in and out of drag. It's not an issue. Pronouns and names are as interchangeable to these girls as a dress from a closet full of identical ballroom gowns. It is something that, for most all of them, is perfectly fine but it's also something that makes him feel like even more of an outsider. Like even more of a bystander and even less of a participant.

And that is a deep, dark hole to fall into.

The pit of not belonging. He knows it all too well.

_Pearl, these are my friends. Friends, Pearl. Pearl, friends._

_Hey there, Violet's friends._

_Congrats, runner up!_

_Er. . . thanks._

_Wow, not one for conversation, is he Violet?_

_Now Leon, the boy's just a little sleepy._

_Oh is that all it is Margot?_

_All that and a tin cup of soup._

_Girl, you kill me._

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

Adore flounces off stage in a cloud of sweat and cheap perfume. She doesn't make eye contact with Pearl, but tugs a little on his nose ring as she brushes past. It's a tradition, maybe. It makes him shiver, maybe. She spins in her heels, turning back to face him. For good luck, she mouths.

It's a tug that's painfully, brutally reminiscent of Violet.

_Why do you have this?_

_I don't know. I thought it would, like, look good on my face._

_Bull-shit. I know a story when I see one bitch. So are you the bull or the matador?_

_Can I be. . . the matador. Definitely the matador._

_I thought the bull was the one with the nose ring?_

_What kind of trick question was that then Chachki?_

_If you can explain your answer, it's right. And if you can't, fake it till you feel it bitch._

_Maybe I like to be a little more in control of stuff than, like, a rampaging bull._

_You're too sleepy to be a good matador._

_You know how much I hate that, Vi._

_I was kidding. The bull's really the one controlling the situation, anyways. Can I touch it?_

_Sure, I guess._

_Does it hurt?_

_It feels pretty good, actually. It makes my spine tingle._

_Oh, kinky are we?_

_I mean, don't go yanking it out or anything. . ._

_Think of the amazing themed drag we could do, I totally have matador bone structure!_

_If I get to stab you with a horn, I'm down._

_Bitttttcccchhh! You're slutty and shady. But who am I kidding. I'd let you stab me any day._

(There hadn't been much talking after that.)

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

Pearl has been thoroughly unimpressive this whole tour.

She's not a showstopper, a heart-breaker, a hard-worker.

She does her job, and it's alright.

Every night when the show is over and the girls are fresh-faced and ready to hit the clubs, when Pearl is already safely tucked away into his suitcase, Matt is put to the test, and every night he fails.

“Come on gurl,” Alaska coos.

“Get over your skank self, Madonna,” Willam snaps.

“We're gonna go hit up that swanky club,” Courtney drawls.

Michelle just laughs and calls them off after a while. “Leave Pearlie alone,” she chuckles.

And so they do.

So Pearlie retreats to his hotel room, where he wipes off the last of his makeup and curls up. Sometimes with a blunt, sometimes with a bottle. Only once with pills, but the morning after was hell, so he learned from that mistake pretty damn fast.

Every night it's a new poison, as he desperately tries to replace the deep, thrumming _Violet_ that burns through his veins with something more corrosive, in the faint hope that he will one day have no more veins to remember Violet with at all. He doesn't want to die, just forget.

“She's not nice, Pearl. She doesn't play nice. Not with the crown, not with her corsets, not with love.” Katya had advised, wise as always, when Pearl had come to him, dragged out, turned on and begging for advice.

And hadn't he been right? Hadn't he been so fucking right this whole fucking time?

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It's the door, not his nose. Took him a fucking second.

He stumbles to his feet, barely registering the fact that he's wearing only ragged boxers and that he has a smear of boob contour streaked across his chest. He rubs at it halfheartedly, wondering who the hell knows he's in here that isn't out clubbing right now. He inches towards the door, his bottle of Smirnoff a crutch for things he's too tired of supporting.

Maybe it's housekeeping, here for the sheets. Maybe it's his mother, here to tell him that she's proud as hell of the mess he's become. Maybe it's Michelle, here to boot him off the tour for good. Maybe it's RuPaul, here to gloat once more about his sleepiness, his missing personality. Maybe it's Jason, dragged up and wearing a dangerously sultry smile, an apology plastered on Violet Chachki's lips.

But it's not. It's Adore.

It's a moment before they acknowledge each other, both queens a little unsteady on their feet.

“Courtney's got someone in our room. He's pretty fuckin' loud,” Adore slurs. If Matt weren't next to unconscious he probably would have laughed at that. Of course the blonde Australian bombshell had pulled at the club. Of course Adore had come here. Of-fucking-course.

“It's a single.” It takes a while for Matt to form the words and spit them out, the letters plodding around in his head a little while too long before making their appearance between his teeth.

“S'fine.” Adore mumbles, leaning forward to clumsily wiggle Matt’s nose ring, “Azusa bitch. I've slept in worse places than the floor of a Hilton.” And this time Matt does laugh.

And then he steps back from the door, and then Adore-motherfucking-Delano is in his hotel room, and damn this whole star power effect that the other queens have should really have worn off on him by now, but it hasn't and it takes everything he has to remain chill and keep his fuck-all attitude intact.

“Vodka?” He offers the bottle, but Adore grimaces and shakes his head, leaning on the end table for support.

“Just. . . could use a. . . pillow?” He murmurs, on the edge of falling over. Matt knows what blackout drunk looks like, and feels like, so he carefully helps Adore to the ground and, moving surprisingly quickly for his own muddled state, grabs him a pillow from the bed and props him up on his side so he won't choke on his own vomit during the night.

“Nice tit,” the other boy manages, and then he's out.

Matt is left rubbing the final remains of his left boob off, clutching his half-finished Smirnoff and wondering what the hell happened and what the hell he thinks he's playing at on this goddamned All-Stars tour.


	2. a green-grey swirl of paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continental breakfasts, air-conditioned tour buses

In the morning there's absolutely no proof that Adore's been there at all, except for a smeared, bright red lipstick kiss on the bathroom mirror.

Housekeeping's going to love that.

Matt slumps against the minifridge to take inventory, one killer headache and a terrible erection. New morning, same old problems. Adore's perfume is heavy in the room, clouding the air and his brain.  He rubs at his eyes in the bathroom mirror, trying to shake the vodka off. He's largely unsuccessful. Finally he throws himself into the cold shower and instantly deals with his boner, his sleepiness and all his thoughts of everything but coffee.

  
(The headache still persists.)

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

\- - -

They really make quite a bunch, clumping together around their continental  breakfast at the giant table that the Hilton staff has mashed together for them. Matt's never sure if it's the sizable crowd of highly flamboyant lady-boys that attracts the attention of other hotel patrons, or Michelle Visage's knockers. Probably a good mix of both.

They're heading out today, on their way to Philly, Matt thinks he catches. If he's honest, he has no clue where they are right now. The farthest he thinks geographically is hotel, venue, club, bus, hotel, venue, club, bus. Although he tends to skip the club part.

He's just tuned in to Detox and Willam arguing about proper tucking methods (traditional duct tape versus the boat-tape Willam swears by) when Michelle stands and claps her hands, effectively silencing the rabble. Once you've stood before her on the runway, you can't help but harbor both respect and a healthy fear for Michelle Visage. She's may be an acquired taste but everyone either loves her, or grows to love her. Except for Violet of course.

 

_I hate Michelle Visage._

_I know._

_Do you, Matt?_

_What, hate Michelle Visage?_

_No. Think it's too boy?_

_No. It was, like, practically perfect._

_So my body's not too thick-?_

_You're perfect Vi. Your body is insane._

_(A moment of silence, and then;)_

_You should hate her too, for what she's said about you._

_I don't. She can fuck right off, but I don't hate her. She's not right all the time, you know._

_You're too forgiving. Too willing to let people walk all over your ass. You didn't let RuPaul get away with it, god knows why, but you have no trouble letting anyone else do it._

_Vi-_

_No, really. Snap out of it, bitch. Regardless of any outside bullshit, you_ have _to get your head in this shit, okay? Fuck everyone who gets in between you and the crown._

_Even you?_

_Especially me._

 

Michelle's early morning rasp drags him from his reverie.

“Special news alert, ladies. In Philly we'll be meeting someone special who has agreed to join us for the rest of the tour. So don't disappear right to your rooms to go and jack off once we get to the hotel, okay? We have a press event in the lobby first. Alright, I'm done. Commence, but be ready for the bus in an hour. We wait for no queen,” She ends with a flourish.

“Hear hear,” Willam follows her up with a one-fingered salute to the queens and the other diners.

The queens go back to their breakfast, Matt just crunches his toast and sips his coffee in silence.

He likes to consider himself an observer of sorts. He likes to watch on the sidelines; people tend to think he's half asleep behind his low-lidded eyes, so he hears all kinds of shit he shouldn't. He's gotten pretty good at it too. Like the way he watches the discreetly hazy glances Raja and Raven are tossing at each other like cannonballs, splashing somehow quietly in the murky and rough water dancing between them. He notices that Courtney's mysterious club lover is nowhere to be seen, but he watches the glazed way that Bianca looks at his scone and the matching hickeys that he and Courtney sport. He makes dubious eye contact with Adore and wonders what other secrets the boy hides for his little drag family.

Alaska looks as grim as Matt has ever seen him. Of course the queen is upset. A surprise guest in Philidelphia can mean one and one thing only: Sharon Needles.

Alaska and Sharon broke up a few years back, under the solemn agreement that they would be able to work with each other in a professional setting, and with the hopes that they would remain friends. Needless to say, it hadn't worked very well.

“Great,” Bianca groans. “Just what a pack of touring drag queens needs. Just one more ounce of pining, sexual frustration, and outright _professionalism_.”

“Shut up the fuck up.” Alaska snaps, eyes coal and brimstone. Conversation at the table screeches to a halt as he stands abruptly, sending his chair crashing to the floor and charges from the room. Probably to go break some shit, like the last time Sharon joined the tour. Jinkx shoots Bianca a glare and scurries off after Alaska, probably to make sure the shit he ends up breaking will be affordable enough to be replaced.

Alaska and Jinkx, another one of the weird things that Matt notices.

The breakfast party gradually breaks apart after that, everyone wandering off to go and make finishing checks on their packing. Matt is the last one to leave the table.

He's been packed since they got here.

\- - -

He's on the bus, headphones securely in place, when someone sits down next to him. It's a bit of a shock; after a few weeks of trying the queens more or less gave up on trying to get him to socialize.

It's Adore. He's got his headphones in too. He turns and shoots Matt a dazzling smile, tugging fondly on his nose ring. It makes Matt shiver, maybe. Adore mouths _good luck_ , with an eyebrow waggle.

He's just turned back to the window when there's a whisper in his ear. "My name is Danny."

Before he can blink, the bus rumbles to a start, and the world outside of its windows blurs into one large green-grey swirl of paint. And Matt gets lost in his music and, for a while, manages to disappear completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment and tell me what you think !!!


	3. fiftieth floor, sorry hunks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some tasteful public nudity for ya nerve,  
> additionally, mom provides life
> 
> ((katya calls pearl butt-muffin, oyster, ballsack and pussywillow.))

 

“Wake UP, Pearl!”

He's shaken awake by a sour-breathed and demanding Jiggly Caliente once they reach Philadelphia. He blearily pulls his suitcases out from under his seat and tromps out of the empty bus.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

The hotel is pure insanity.

Imagine a five star hotel with marble floors, an old Hollywood charm and 14 tired, pissed-off drag queens trying to get into full hair and makeup in the lobby.

“Drag in 30 people!” Michelle calls out.

“Where're the fucking rooms already?” Detox squawks, hastily pinning his wig.

“Check in, forty minute,” the Philippino concierge valiantly tries to explain in broken english. “So sorry.”

30.

3.

0.

Full drag in thirty minutes. _Thirty_. It takes him 30 minutes to do one of Pearl's eyes. On a good day.

It takes Bianca longer to do half a wig.

There's no sign of Sharon Needles.

He's pretty sure that Willam is naked and tucking by a fountain.

This is the inferno.

There's one moment of calm and peace and eerie silence and then:

“Drag in 25, people!”

“I'll cut a bitch!” Raven swears, desperately fluffing her wig.

And the world erupts into panic and chaos once more.

 

\- - -

 

Pearl doesn't know how they did it. But they did it. Sure the makeup is smudged at the corners, and the hair is a little flat and a little dry. And Pearl couldn't count the number of surprised businessmen and women that saw naked, tucked ass today on the polished nails of every queen here. But they are in drag and they look flawless, bitches. More or less.

Michelle and the hotel staff have surely broken some kind of world record just by cleaning up the mess the queens left behind as they hopped around like headless chickens, pulling their drag on in a public hotel lobby.

And yes, they pulled their drag _on_ in a public hotel lobby.

At first Willam got naked, and then Detox, and then Alaska. And then it became a weird gay game of chicken. Who would wuss out and change in the bathroom? No one. Except a blushing Ivy Winters of course.

But, regardless, they're here and queer and in desperate need for beer.

Pearl is, somehow, awake and ready to go. The doors to the lobby burst open and she expects a mass of people, a crowd of fans, or whoever it is they're throwing this weird, last-minute event for. Maybe it's even Sharon Needles, 20 minutes late, as usual.

But it's none of those things.

It's Violet.

And Pearl thinks her heart maybe skips a beat, and she knows her chest is burning with the unexpected feeling of a tear being patched back together.

She's suddenly so overwhelmed she might cry. Or be throw up. But she can't afford to give a fuck. Not here in front of everyone and their mother. Or ever, actually.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

She's completely done with fucking caring.

 

_Fuck everyone who gets in between you and that crown._

_Even you?_

_Especially me._

 

Well, flaze-fucking-da.

Because, of course, _she_ would be joining the tour. And, of course, _she_ would look so fucking polished with a fucking 10 inch fucking waist. And, of course, _she_ would be trailed by a slightly disoriented Katya who was and is thoroughly impossible to hate.

“Sorry,” Violet breezily smiles her way into the thick of things. “Plane was late.”

And, of course, Pearl thinks, as Michelle orders the season seven queens to sit together at the main table, this is just her shitty, shitty, luck.

 

\- - -

 

Violet is warm and happy and all bright smiles and bubbly laughter.

It is like nothing has changed.

And it makes Pearl sick.

But Pearl is smart and good and she knows how this works. She smiles and shines and pretends to snore whenever it is asked of her. She has coined a catchphrase, and has played the game. She was top three, season seven, motherfucker.

(Pearl is polished and cold and cordial.

It is like they have just met.

It is equally hard, but it is better.)

So Pearl smiles and signs autographs and hands out “flaze-da” t-shirts and Matt pretends like the person he is sitting next to is a stranger.

Pretends like he can't remember the feeling of his mouth on his dick.

Pretends like he doesn't hear Michelle ordering his single room upgraded to a double.

Pretend like he can't feel the burning stares that Violet keeps shooting at him.

Pretends like he doesn't notice the questioning ones Adore flops his way.

Pretends like he is just one large machine, made only for the purpose of signing, smiling, signing, smiling, signing, smiling, until he can't anymore.

 

\- - -

 

The queens are given a five minute break to freshen up.

Katya drags Pearl into the elevator and presses the button for the fiftieth floor with her tongue.

“We're not going to make it back in time,” Pearl weakly protests, but one of Katya's patented withering Russian babushka stares shuts her right down.

“So,” Katya begins. “What's up, Oyster?”

It takes about thirty seconds for Pearl to crack.

“Violet.” It's a nice word, really. A very pretty color. The last one in the rainbow. A little girl's name. The name of a movie character Jason loves. But Pearl crumbles as she says it, sliding down the mirror paneled wall of the elevator and onto the floor. Inside, Matt is tearing his hair out.

“I see,” Katya muses. “Violet Chachki has done you in. And something tells me that Pearl is not used to being done in. No, something tells me that Pearl is the one used to doing the doing in. Jeezus-fuck that was a grammatical minefield, but you get the gist.”

“Remember that one day on the show?” Pearl is shaking, “that one day, when I told you that one thing.”

“Ah, oh, ok-aaay. Right. Of course. That one day. That one thing. On the show. Of course I remember.” Pearl knows that Katya is trying. Pearl knows that Katya is trying really, really hard. To make her laugh, chuckle, smile, _react_ , anything. But all Pearl can do is stare at the shiny, gold floor through the cracks in her fingers.

“That day, that thing. That one thing. About Violet. _Jason_. When I told you that thing about Jason.”

“Oh, oh, oh, right. About wanting to fuck him? And then I told you to stay the fuck away. Rightfully, of course. You know, Oyster, if you still want to hit that, he's grown a lot since his coro-”

“NO!” The protestation holds every ounce of frustration, anger, guilt that Pearl has been busy internalizing for the last five months.

Just at that moment, the elevator screeches to a halt at floor 32. Katya calmly slams down on both the up button and the door close button.

“Sorry, hunks,” she yells at the shocked members of a Japanese business contingency as the doors slide to a close, “but we have a hooker emergency over here!”

Ever unfazed, Katya smooths a hand over her lace-front, turning to face Pearl again. “Where were we, Butt-muffin?”

“I did.” These are them, Pearl is sure. These are the two words that will be the definite, for sure, end of her.

“Did what, Ballsack?”

“I did. 'Hit that'. I did.”

Of all the possible reactions Pearl is expecting, laughter doesn't even make the list. But Katya laughs. So hard she wiggles, snorts, shakes all over.

“You. . . fucking. . . whore!” She gasps between guffaws. “You. . . indecent. . . horrible. . . slutty individual!” Katya is rolling around on the floor of the elevator, her heels clacking in the air as she howls. “You horny, horny human being! You little crafty pussy! You probably snuck into her room that day. . . no, probably the day before! Fuck! You little lobsters probably fucked in full drag and everything! You lovely, lovely cunt!”

Soon Pearl joins in, laughing so hard she nearly cries.

They're on floor 50 when Katya finally rights herself and regains her composure, hitting the lobby button.

“So, you and Chachki, huh?" Katya murmurs, "I'm gonna go out on a bit of a limb here, and assume that you two had a thing and that it was short and rough and also that it ended terribly.”

“Yeah.” Pearl is suddenly very solemn.

“Hm. So that's this big problem then?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. Hmmm. And now you want my advice?”

“More like desperately need.”

“Alright Oyster, you want the truth? Here it is. Violet Chachki is many things. A one of a kind collectible. A bitch. A bitch who has it and knows that she has it and works it like she has it. A fierce queen who has corsets, latex, fashion and eleganza for your nerve. She's fucking confident, fucking in charge. She could make burning at the stake look easy. Honestly? I think she has severe self-image issues. I think she's terrified of turning herself off. I think she's afraid of emotions. I think she's a little young, and a little insane, and a lot unstable. But I also happen to think that she's pretty fucking special. And I guess that you do too Oyster, or you did. Whatever the case may be. You really want my advice about this? Be alive, Pearl. Be alive and live and breathe and feel. Because nothing and no one one, not me, not Vladimir Putin, not RuPaul Charles, not Cam-e-roon, not Trade disliking your lady of the night skills and throwing you in the fire, not even that most likely stupid fight the two of you got into, can tell you what to do here, baby. Only your warm, fuzzy, tender feelings can do that, Pussywillow. And in the words of Violet Chachki herself, 'you either have it, or you don't'. It's that simple. You either have feelings, or you don't. So stand up, straighten your shoulders, fix your busted face and never be afraid to give Jesus a fucking pole dance of a lifetime on the way down to hooker heaven, gurr.”

Katya holds out a hand, helps Pearl to her feet, brushes her off.

Floor 5.

“Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?” Pearl isn't even really aware of what she's saying until it's out of her mouth. “You dumb, Russian hooker.” This time, when Pearl cracks, it's with a beaming smile.

Floor 4.

And Katya grins right back, tweaking Pearl's nose.

Floor 3.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

Floor 2.

“Just talk to her, Butt-muffin. And if you two bitches ever need any remedial couples counseling, or STDs, or just a damn good show, you know where to find me. In the sewer beneath Denny's.” Katya smiles smugly, pulling out her compact and touching up her makeup.

Floor 1. The doors race open. Violet's eyes fly to them, flitting between Pearl and Katya.

“Showtime babies!” Michelle crows.

And this time Pearl is ready.

Probably.

Sort of.

Maybe.

 

\- - -

 

Katya leaves shortly after the three hour event, charmingly disgruntled and with a solemn promise to rejoin the tour in LA.

Violet does not.

Michelle tells them that they have the rest of today and most of tomorrow to sleep it off and do whatever they need before their first show here.

They gather their immense amount of luggage, which has been jammed into a bellhop's closet, and make their weary way upstairs, room keys in hand.

Pearl walks in silencebeside Adore and a good five paces in front of Violet, pretending that it is Danny who Matt will be sharing a room with.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

Adore sends her another questioning glace, furrowing her brows in concern and Pearl is suddenly very aware of the brittle stiffness in her spine. Adore leans over and pulls gently on her nose ring, shooting her a small smile. It makes her shiver, maybe.

Before Adore peels off into her own room, she slips a note into Pearl's sweaty palm.

She waggles her fingers as she goes, silver nail polish catching on the light.

It's written in smudged purple lipstick (the shade of the day) on the back of a crumpled headshot of Ben De La Creme. Classic Adore.

 

         Kiki? Rio hz single, so Court will b gone @ 9 pm n-till mrng. Rm 1227 ;)

 

Pearl walks down the hall, trying to pretend like she's not grinning from ear to ear.

She turns to enter room 1248, trying to pretend that she is alone.

Trying to pretend like she had listened to Katya that fateful day, week four.

Trying to pretend like Katya's pep talk in the elevator was making a significant impact on the dread currently settling in her stomach.

Trying to pretend that she never, ever, thought it was a good idea to go near Violet Chachki in the first place.


	4. forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wriggling out of drag, moping in hotel rooms

It is only once they are wriggling out of their drag, that the silence is broken.

Matt uses the bathroom, wiping off the makeup, changing out of his punk-rock pantsuit ensemble and into some sweats.

Jason uses the bedroom area, slipping off his wig and clawing at his makeup in the mirror.

Matt has just finished toweling off his face when there's a quiet knock on the bathroom door.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

“Corset?” Jason's voice is muffled.

Matt swings the door open, steps out heavily. Jason's eyes are deep and full as he turns around, bracing himself against the door frame.

Matt fingers the top string of the steelbone corset, worrying it between his thumb and index finger. Jason's breaths are coming out in short, hard pants and from this close up Matt can see a few of the bruises and red welts that line Jason's back.

Matt grits his teeth. He's never liked this. Jason could never, ever get enough.

Now they're silent again.

“Please,” Jason gasps.

So Matt unties the corset, loop by intricate loop. The movements are familiar, his fingers are deft. Jason's skin is too warm. His pale shoulders heave.

Once he's about halfway down Jason breaks, letting out a long, low moan as the air rushes into his lungs. Matt shivers, maybe. Then he gets a good view of Jason's back. It's riddled with bruises and more angry, red sores.

He clenches his hands into fists and slides back to let Jason finish the job. He's always hated the corsets.

“I call the window,” Jason whispers softly when he's done.

Matt flops onto the bed by the window anyways, rolling away from Jason and onto his side.

Things are silent, but they are not easy.

Matt tries to ignore the noise of Jason's foot tapping the floor. Tries to ignore the words that are bubbling from his throat and pressing up against his lips.

(There's so much he can't say, so much he wouldn't dare to say. So much he needs to.)

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

_Just talk to her, Butt-muffin._

“I hate that,” he finally says, tone even and measured, (he's really ripping into shreds) as he turns to face Jason. The other boy is slumped on the other bed, still panting.

“The tapping? Sorry.” He's devilishly breathy and he's got an unapologetic, fuck-me look in his eyes.

“No. The fucking corsets. I hate them. I always fucking have.” Pearl's heart is in his throat.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

Violet shrugs noncommittally, “I like them. You have to cinch that hog body somehow girl.”

“They're hurting you. You're hurting yourself.”

Matt knows he shouldn't care. He really does. Really. He knows he shouldn't have said anything. Honestly, he does. Been there, done that.

_No pain, no gain, Pearl. Life is all about pain. Love is all about pain. Beauty is all about pain. So if everything is all about pain, why can't I be too? After all, this waist is everything bitch._

“I'm sorry, is your property being damaged? Because I'm pretty damn sure you lost all your claims to this property five months ago bitch.” Jason spits venom and it's a good thing that Matt has earned his immunity a long time ago. (Immunity doesn't stop him from wanting to split down the middle and spill his insides all over the floor.)

A little time passes and the venom has drained. And suddenly this is not the Jason he is used to. This Jason doesn't look angry or haughty or like he's been carved from marble. He looks sleepy. And sad.

Matt tries to ignore that too.

_So everybody knows now?_

_No. Nobody. I made sure._

_Is it such a bad thing, Matt? How bad could it fucking be to associate yourself with me?_

_It's not that, I swear to god._

_Sure. I'm so fucking sure. Why then? The competition is over. I'm fucking great. I have nothing to lose here, neither do you._

_Don't be so sure of that._

_What is it then, Matt. What is it that you have to lose? What's the problem? Fuck, what is this really about?_

_I don't know Violet._

_Oh, so I'm just Violet now? Really._

_Jesus, you're so fucking arrogant._

_That's a first._

_Please._

_What are we even doing here?_

_Hell if I know._

And he hadn't known what they were doing. He still honestly doesn't.

All he had known then was that he was too afraid to tie himself to someone with a reputation. To someone people gave a damn about. Because after, when it was over, there would be nothing left but disappointed fans and the most public record of all time.

But maybe, also, he was terrified of being seen, _really_ seen. Terrified of people knowing that he had failed. And not just at drag race.

And maybe, secretly, he was terrified of letting someone break his heart.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

“How much do they know?” Jason's voice is quiet, but there's an exhaustion there too. One that permeates through to his very bones. “About us,” he finishes, eyes downcast.

“Nothing.”

“Well, if they didn't before, be prepared for the questions now, after that stunt you pulled in the lobby.” What Jason is saying should be icy, cold, acidic. It should be burning Matt, killing him. But it slips harmlessly from Jason's mouth and slumps against Matt, rolling off.

Matt can only imagine what the other queens must think of the spectacular Pearl and Violet shit show in the lobby. The way he had cringed every time the queen had so much as reached for something near him was certainly a tip off, more or less.

The room goes silent again. It isn't a good silence, a calm silence. It's just a dead silence.

They just sit there, twiddling their thumbs and looking at anything but each other.

Time slugs past, and then it's nine thirty.

Matt gets up, pads to the light switch. He gestures to the window-bed. Jason smirks and shakes his head. Matt flicks the lights off, pretending like the familiar exchange doesn't stir up another ache in his bones.

He pretends like he can't hear the “I miss you.” Jason throws carelessly into the dark.

He pretends like he wouldn't give his right hand for it to be true.

And then he leaves to go and find Adore.

 

\- - -

 

He's sitting on Courtney Act's bed, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his fist.

The whiskey is the perfect chisel to chip just big enough of a crack into his shell. Maybe Danny knows this, but if he does, he's not telling.

Finally it comes out of Matt, the startled, hurried confession- “I love him. Or I did. I loved him. Fuck.”

It's anything but elegant and he's ashamed of it.

“I know bitch. You're pretty fuckin' obvious girl.” And when he sees Danny's wry grin it's like the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

And then it all comes crashing back down.

“What do I do?” He moans, curving his body around the bottle. “What the fuck do I do?”

Danny stops him, tugging at his nose ring to guide his face up.

Matt is quite certain that his heart jumps a little in his chest as Danny clutches his face with hummingbird hands. The other boy is still half in drag, a blue wig leaning haphazardly off his head, purple lipstick smeared around his mouth.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

Danny pulls on his nose ring once more. “Forget,” he whispers.

And then he jams their mouths together.

And Matt lives and breathes and falls apart.

But no matter how hard he tries, he cannot forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading, i hope you like it :)


	5. suffocation of common sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the bus waits for a queen

There are ten things Matt realizes when he wakes up.

Danny is sleeping. That's the first thing.

They might have had sex last night. That's the second thing.

He's had far too much whiskey. That's the third thing.

It's ten o'clock in the morning. That's the fourth thing.

They've missed breakfast. That's the fifth thing.

Courtney Act is banging on the door. That's the sixth thing.

Matt has no clue where his clothes are. That's the seventh thing.

“Adore, I swear to god!” Courtney howls.

Matt scrambles from the bed, untangling himself from Danny. In record time he tears through the pile of clothes lying on the floor, tracking down his sweats and wriggling into them. He doesn't bother with his shirt, just balling it up and stuffing it under his armpit. Even faster he's at the door, surely looking like a hot damned mess. He swings the it open, darts past a very surprised Courtney and jogs down the corridor, making the fucking run of shame, feeling sure he's forgotten something crucially important. A moment later he figures it out.

He's forgotten his room key. That's the eight friggin thing.

He pounds on the door. His phone is in there, along with his wallet, all his drag. If Violet has decided to go out for the day, he's screwed. They have a show tonight. Michelle Visage will scalp him alive if he's not in drag and ready to go by call time.

“Please, please, please,” he mutters desperately. The door swings open and he's greeted by a very naked, very sleepy Jason.

They stare at each other.

“You missed breakfast.” Matt chokes on the words.

“So did you.” Jason sounds so small, so pained.

“We can order something up to the room?” Matt offers, trying to smoothly patch up the cracks that are webbing their way through everything important.

“I'm good. Thanks.” And Jason slips back into the room, leaving the door hanging open. Matt ducks in and shuts the door behind him, trying to work his features into something normal looking.

It's only once he's in the bathroom fixing his hair that he realizes the ninth thing: he has purple lipstick smeared all over his face and neck.

And the tenth thing?

He's made Violet Chachki jealous. Very jealous indeed.

\- - -

Their call time for the show is six thirty. The show starts at eight.

They're all supposed to meet in the lobby, and then take the bus over together. And they have to be right on time too; the bus waits for no queen.

Jason spends all day in bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling in silence.

Matt orders them a room service breakfast, but Jason won't touch it. So Matt ends up eating four pancakes and a two plates of rubbery scrambled eggs all by himself, just for something to do.

Jason won't eat lunch either. And there's nothing Matt can do about it because the other queen refuses to speak to him. Of all the childish fucking bullshit. . .

Of all the childish fucking bullshit Violet Chachki has done during their time together, not eating before a show has got to be the stupidest. But he won't budge.

So Matt watches The Price is Right in complete silence for three hours.

Then Judge Judy, for two more.

Every thirty minutes or so he checks to make sure Jason is still breathing.

The highlight of his day, by far, is when Danny texts him.

**Last night wuz epic How r u?**

Matt hopes that Jason is enjoying the stupid, beaming smile plastered all over his face. It's a smug hope, but it's a hope. Matt replies.

Horny n hungover n great, u?

**fckn awesome can I come over?**

not good idea. V is flipping

**Next time ;)**

wuz court mad?

**just confused dont worry bitch owes me**

V knows too

**yeah?**

Yeah probs

**u dont owe her anything babe just be happy**

I will

**feel free to b happy w/me anytime gorgeous**

hey did we fck?

**IDK! Wuz gunna ask u**

is ur ass sore

**oh, yeah ur micropenis rlly did me in**

v funny bitch

**sry pearlie im sure you have a nice dick**

I think u'd remembr it if u saw it

**rlly?**

Nah, I think we blacked-out last night

**probs aw fuck. Im not gonna get to say I fckd pearl**

u can say it if u want

**rlly?! Omg yes!**

u left lpstk all ovr my face

**u sure we didnt fuck ;)**

prtty

**damn maybe next time**

just make the call

**tha b000000ty call. Can I top**

if u rlly wanna

**knaw, knock urself out w/that stuff bitch**

  
By the time the conversation was done, Matt ached.

He couldn't remember the last time he had had sex.

Well, actually, he could.

He glanced over at Jason as discreetly as possible.

The other boy was staring back at him, something unreadable painted over his face, a vaguely hazy lust shining in his eyes. Matt shivered, biting down on his lip. This was not happening, not here, not now, not ever.

 

_C'mere._

_Shh.. ._

_C'mere!_

_Shh Vi. . . Jesus!_

_C'mere. C'mere and fuck me._

_You're drunk._

_Doesn't matter. Fucking do me baby._

_Shh!_

_What? You ashamed of me? Don't want people to know 'bout us?_

_No! Vi. . .just wait until we get back to the hotel, alright? Not here, not in a bathroom._

And then Jason had disappeared. Turns out he did wait until he got back to the hotel. He just hadn't been waiting for Matt.

Matt found them twined up together, moaning and sweating. This stranger lying on his side of the bed. It was the last straw. He had kicked the guy out, Jason had just sat there tin silence.

Then he had turned on Jason, attacked him with his lips, teeth, tongue. Their bodies heaved and dragged, the friction setting Matt on fire. He was harsh, unforgiving. There was nothing loving or careful about the way they touched. Jason loved it. It made Matt sick.

And then Matt had locked himself in the bathroom and fallen asleep in the empty bathtub with a bottle of tequila.

In the morning when he finally stumbled out of the bathroom, an apology thought up, printed out and ready to give, Jason was gone.

There was a twenty lying on the neatly made bed. And somehow he knew it wasn't for housekeeping.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

A fresh surge of anger skitters down his body and Matt turns away with a renewed strength. No way, no sir. Not if Jason was the last man on earth. Never, never again.

\- - -

At five thirty Matt rolls out of bed, does twenty five sit ups and twenty push ups and starts gathering his outfits for tonight's show.

“Who was it?” Jason's voice is so small Matt almost misses it altogether.

“I'm sorry, is your property being damaged? Because I'm pretty damn sure you lost all your claims to this property five months ago bitch.” It's out before Matt can think, too dry, so cynical. He throws the words right back into Jason's face. And then watches as it crumples.

“Lie here in this damn bed all day if you want to Jason. Lie here and play the fucking victim. But that won't change the fact that I deserve to be happy, goddammit. And you stopped making me happy a long time ago. Come to the show or not, ever step foot outside of this hotel room again or not, finish the tour or not, I don't care. Just don't take happiness away from me, okay? Leave me alone and back the fuck off.”

And then Matt is gone, and Jason is alone.

And for the first time in five months, Jason starts to cry.

\- - -

The bus is no longer a lonely place for Matt.

Ever since he's gotten closer with Danny, everything has changed. It's like the queens have gathered in secret and decided to give him a second chance. Because although he and Jason are the youngest queens on the tour, Adore has and always will be the kid on everybody's lips. Even the oldest, bitterest queen can't help but harbor a strong affection for the foul-mouthed Libra. Anyone he likes is alright by them.

As Danny so jokingly put it when Matt sat down and almost gagged when he was immediately welcomed by both Courtney and Bianca, “Now you get brownie points bitch.”

Violet is still nowhere to be seen and Michelle is furious about it.

But there's nothing anyone can to do make Jason show and Matt knows it.

That doesn't stop them from waiting for twenty minutes anyways.

“The bus waits for no queen, huh Michelle?” Willam pipes from the back.

“Shut it,” Michelle warns.

“Maybe it would have waited for your sorry, name-dropping ass if you had won your season, bitch.” Bianca cackles.

Pearl laughs. Loudly. The kind of snorting hack that turns up at the corners. And the whole bus turns to stare at him.

(It's been a while.)

“Well hunty, look who's back from the land of the dead and dying!” Detox shouts.

They all cheer and whoop and 'yes gurrrlll!' and clap and Matt takes a little bow and smiles so hard his cheeks hurt and Jason is still M.I.A and maybe, this whole time, Matt has been so focused on making sure that he wasn't actually the sleepy little boy they all accused him of being that he sort of turned into one.

And now maybe everything is the way it's supposed to have been this whole time.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

And now maybe everything is wonderful.

“Pearl,” Michelle shouts, “Now that you're up and attem, go get Chachki, would you? She's the main event for tonight, we can't exactly leave her behind.”

Matt's face falls. Chachki. Right. Danny lays a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“I'll go too,” he pipes up. “Just in case.”

“I don't care who the fuck goes. Just go,” Michelle snaps. “You have fifteen minutes.”

\- - -

They tromp down the hotel corridor, hand in hand.

Matt's worried. Doesn't know what they're going to find.

As he opens the door to the hotel room he shivers a little, maybe. Quickly, before Danny can poke his head in, Matt steps forward, blocking the other boy's view. If there's one thing and one thing only that Jason deserves, it's dignity.

Jason is drunk. That much is easy to see, and smell.

There are two wine empty wine bottles lying on the ground. Jason hates cheap wine. These must have been the only things left in the mini fridge. There's some shitty skin-emax porno playing on the television. Jason is naked and lying on the floor, his hand is wrapped around his dick and he's tugging at it furiously. His shoulder length hair lies tangled and curled around him on the ground, a sea of uncertainty. Matt is frozen and there's no sounds left in the entire world except for the slapping of skin and Jason's rough grunts. Jason turns his head, stares at Matt with tortured longing and shudders, coming all over his fingers with sob.

It's the saddest thing Matt has ever seen.

He turns to Danny. “Give me one minute,” he whispers. Then he steps all the way inside and shuts the door softly behind him.

With a sigh he walks into the bathroom and grabs a hand towel from the counter. Gently he wipes up the come drying on Jason's chest. His heart is thumping, a little too hard.

Carefully, he picks Jason up and deposits him on the bed near the window.

“M'sorry,” Jason mumbles.

“I know.” Matt whispers. And he does, he really does. He pulls the comforter over the other boy, patting his damp forehead awkwardly. There's a small rap on the door. Danny.

Matt steps back, clicking the tv off and shuffling to the door.

He's stopped by a cry. It's Jason.

“No. Stop! Please. Not there. Don't leave.” The queen's eyes are pleading, desperate. Jason hates being out of control, this must be killing him slowly. Just like it's killing Matt. Double homicide by suffocation of common sense.

And suddenly, a lot becomes clear.

“There's a show tonight,” Matt chews on the words. “I have to go. You actually do too, but um. . . don't worry, I'll, uh, I'll tell them that you had shrimp for lunch and got food poisoning or something.” Matt's walking towards the door with a purpose now, his back to Jason. Just before he leaves, he turns back once more to check on him.

Jason is asleep, snoring gently.

Matt opens the door, steps heavily outside. He throws a vague “he's sick” at the concerned Danny and, as they walk down to the bus again, he hopes against all hope that he hasn't broken Violet Chachki. He hopes it with everything he's got.

Because, in the end, Violet may just be all he has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hoped you liked it dear ones, have a swell day


	6. slipping away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pearl wakes the fuck up

The show goes beautifully.

There's one strained moment at the beginning, when the queens are being introduced and starting to walk the stage, that Violet Chachki's name is called by the announcer. There's a buzzing moment of awkward silence and then Pearl dives right in, squeezing her hands tightly around her waist and hobbling onstage with a strange grimace. The crowd eats it up, and the other queens are living, and Pearl can hear her blood roaring in her ears and everything is so overwhelming and so wondrous.

Pearl stomps, smashes, captivates the audience. Not one single, solitary person complains about the mysterious lack of the headline performer. Even Michelle eventually shuts up about it and just enjoys the show. The audience loves Pearl's Violet impression so much that (in an extremely last minute fashion) she's added to Snatch Game as Chachki, bumming a corset off of Adore, of all people.

(Being Violet hurts a little bit, but Pearl ignores the stinging itch until it goes away.)

 

_Pain is everything._

 

Pearl is breathtaking. She is the star. She is brilliant and shining and no one can bear to take their eyes off of her and it feels fucking awesome. She lives and breathes and feels and steals the motherfucking show.

Everyone lets her have her moment, even Courtney.

And later, when it's all over, and the fans have been met and the autographs have been signed, when the queens clamor around Matt and beg him to come with them to the club, he can't find the will to refuse them.

 

\- - -

 

The club is called Pulse, and pulse it does. The whole thing quivers and shakes with the music, a deep thrumming bass line. In the end only Detox, Jinkx, Danny, Courtney, Bianca, Raven, Raja, Michelle and Matt had decided to visit the club. (Willam, it turned out, really did have bad shrimp for lunch. He had barely made it through the show before he had spilled his guts in the gutter. Ivy, Ben and Jiggly were just tired. And after the show Alyssa and Shangela had said their teary goodbyes and headed off for the airport.) Lights flash purple and blue as the queens are guided to their special roped off section.

“A fucking roped off booth. I can't. It's like the fucking movies!” Matt gasps. Alaska throws his head back and laughs, a loud, drawn out sound. It seems to ricochet around for a while, dancing along with the humming music.

“Welcome to the greener pastures, Ru-girl,” he drags it out of his mouth with a sly grin. “I'm Justin,” he shouts over the pounding music as they settle into their seats, extending his hand.

“Matt,” Matt yells back, shaking Justin's hand.

“I know girl. You're a little slow aren't you? With this whole meeting people thing?”

Matt winces, expecting it any second now. _Wake up Pearl. Come out of your shell already._

But it never comes. Justin just examines the sticky tabletop beneath his fingers for a moment and then leans forward again, his breath hot on Matt's ear. “The talent's all fine and good, but the charisma takes real practice gurl.” And then he smiles, and Matt smiles right back.

Michelle Visage barrels over with a tray of strange purple drinks, trailed by Detox and Courtney.

“Who wants drinks babies?” Michelle laughs, laying the tray on the table with a smack and a slosh.

Soon they're crowded around the table, all 8 of them. They all have drinks save, of course, for Justin, who's nursing a tall glass of water.

“So,” Danny announces about twenty minutes in, “my bitch Pearl, huh? Who else was living bitches? Cuz I was fucking living tonight.”

There's a smattering of applause and clinking glasses. Matt grins, running a hand through his mop of hair.

“Who needs the real Chachki, we've got one right fucking here!” Raven raises his brow with a smirk. He never was too fond of Pearl's predictable style choices. Matt shrugs, downing the rest of his cocktail in one gulp.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

“You haven't seen it yet girl. You fucking will.” Matt's voice isn't the loudest, and he certainly doesn't demand to be heard, but they listen carefully all the same.

“Trust and believe,” Bianca shoots out with a dimpled grin, “I've seen this bitch's trunks and she's got some damn good shit. It's mostly underwear, but there's nice fucking panties in there.” They are definitely listening carefully to that. It's unexpected and quite frankly undeserving, this plug from Bianca. Danny leans over the table, sloppily tugging Matt's piercing with a wink. _Brownie points_ , he mouths.

“You been holding out on us, Pearlie?” Raja's throaty voice somehow manages to float over the heavy music. Matt balks, sure he's a red, sweaty, mess as he scrabbles for a reply.

“Not holding out,” he manages finally, stabbing his straw into the ice at the bottom of his cup, “just waiting.”

“For what?” Detox shouts, holding his arm out for another drink.

“I don't know.” And he doesn't, it's true. He has no idea what he's been waiting for this whole fucking time.

“Fuck waiting,” Danny slurs, tugging on the thick strap of Matt's tank, “let's dance bitches.”

And dance they do.

 

\- - -

 

Matt has no idea how he got back to his hotel room last night but he suspects that it may have something to do with the large Latino man Detox had, um, _found_ at the club, one too many strange purple concoctions and a fireman's carry.

Breakfast starts at eleven today, in honor of the, special circumstances. (Ivy had come and knocked on the fucking door at _eight thirty_ to let them know.) Not that three blackout drunks out of seven drinkers is really too special for a pack of drag queens. It's semi-miraculous that he's even awake but, honestly, the last thing Matt will ever do is undermine his liver's ability to metabolize toxins. He's up and trudging around by his usual nine forty-five, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trying to decide whether the purple drinks were cherry or grape flavored. He's got a killer headache, of course, but it could be much, much worse. Jason's still passed out, snoring softly. Danny's not responding to his text messages.

In short, Matt's suddenly got an hour of time to fill, and nothing to fill it with. Well, not nothing, he concedes. He does have his drag.

It's not like he's getting tucked or anything, he just wants to try some shit on. He kneels by the foot of his bed, carefully unlatching his trunk. Bianca was right, there are some fucking nice panties in here. He runs his hand down the satiny fabric, breathing in the clean, familiar, baby powdery smell of laundry detergent and dryer sheets. His hands finally settle on a flowy, pastel pink robe. With the tiniest of grins he slings it on, prancing up and down the hotel room, swishing the robe majestically at every turn. It's only when he sees himself in the mirror, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, that it comes crashing back.

Trying his drag on with Violet in the werk room.

 

_I love that bitch! It's so fucking fierce. WORK! COME THROUGH!_

_What's your favorite part Chach?_

_That ass._

_It certainly is my handsomest body part._

_Among other things, I'm sure._

_You horny or something?_

_Only a little._

_Promise?_

_Okay I lied. But please Pearlie, by all means, don't stop waggling your ass. Not on my account._

_I look like a fucking duck when I do this!_

_A friendly duck. A very friendly duck._

 

Matt swishes the robe over his shoulders, holds it to his chest, breathes it in. It makes him sort of smile, this memory of Jason, from back when things were sweet and innocent and back when they still stumbled around each other and wrote clumsy little sort-of-love notes that they slipped between the cracks of their hotel room doors. That had been just before they had fallen into bed together and when that had happened, they had surprised no one but themselves, really.

Matt swallows thickly. It makes him smile, but it hurts too. It's like he's had a limb sawn off of his body and is experiencing phantom relationship pains. Are those even a real thing? Matt's not sure, but whatever this is, he wishes it would stop. The happiness can sometimes be the worst part to remember. It's so easy to forget the terrible ending when all you can seem to think about is the joy in your heart when it had begun.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

As he folds the robe and goes to shut it back into the trunk, he spies the two empty wine bottles lined up by the door and the terrible ending reacquaints itself pretty damn fast.

 

\- - -

 

At breakfast, it's announced. The tour is officially splitting in half.

Matt nearly chokes on his orange juice when he hears it.

Half, Michelle says, will continue up the east coast and then on to Europe, while the other half will board a tour bus and drive their way down to the west coast.

As soon as the announcement is made, the table erupts into excited chatter. Even after the rager last night, they still carry their unflappable enthusiasm proudly. No one is quite sure what to make of it. Sure, individual queens branch off from the tour all the time, but it's never been split in half before. Michelle tells them to figure out which seven queens want to go to Europe and which seven want to take the tour bus to Cali. It certainly takes a while but before breakfast is over, they have it sort of figured out. Danny, Bianca, Courtney, Matt, Willam and Detox will tmake the seven day trek to the west coast, where they'll eventually trade Detox for Katya and Max in L.A. Raja, Raven, Ben, Jiggly, Ivy, Jinkx and Alaska, will vagabond across Europe with Michelle Visage and Jujubee. No one knows what Violet wants because the bitch didn't bother coming down for breakfast, but considering that there's only eight plane tickets to Europe, Matt knows pretty damn well what Jason will end up doing.

It's all pretty crazy, really. There could be a horror movie about this shit; eight queens, one tour bus, seven bunks, one sofa, one monumental mistake.

As much as Matt wishes he could just throw in the towel and give up, he knows he can't. Violet Chachki or no Violet Chachki, last night was his moment, the moment when he finally dove headfirst into the tour, guns a blazing. And it was awesome. And he'll be damned if he lets this slip out from under him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a magnificent day! hope you gained something from this!


	7. tombstones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> courtney does her very best non-regional american accent, the tour bus is driven by a dinosaur, and adore eats pizza. . . flavored goldfish crackers

The tour bus is not nearly as large as it sounds. It's incredible, really, how easily seven bunk beds can be crammed into one low rent bus. The beds are like the slots for bodies in the morgue on CSI. “Tombstones!” Danny immediately dubs them. “Because you'd have to be, like, dead to want to sleep in one!”

“World of Wonder's touring budget will never fail to amaze me,” Bianca muses as he stares at the shitty little bus. Matt doesn't know what the others had been expecting, but he had been thinking something along the lines of rock star tour bus meets eighteen wheel deluxe RV motorcade with a mini fridge and a TV with, like, a playstation attached.

There is a minifridge, and there is a TV, but about that's as far as the similarities go. This particular deluxe RV motorcade looks like the kind that your grandmother would buy half off at a flea market or something.

The whole outside is a faded shade of grey with brown streaks, the inside is furnished in orange shag carpet and flowery wallpaper, and when it pulled into the parking lot behind the hotel it genuinely sounded like it was running purely off of fumes and desperation. Not to mention the fact that the driver, a man named Bill who looks to be about a hundred years old, can barely hear anything out of his right ear. He's also apparently legally blind without his glasses, a situation which has two hundred thousand terrible outcomes. But he's been driving buses for twenty years, so Matt thinks they'll probably be pretty okay. Probably.

There's limited storage space, too. They only get a little plastic box for their stuff, the rest is shoved under the bus with their drag. Matt grabs his phone, his sketchbook, his ipod and a box of colored pencils. He also just has the forethought to snag his cigarettes and a lighter before the bags are locked into the cavernous depths below the bus. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Willam loading his box with lube and shot glasses, and he hopes to god that whatever Willam ends up doing with those things, he does them quietly.

And then the eight of them, Jason included, say their goodbyes to the other queens. It's not particularly teary, they know they'll see each other again. Michelle promises she'll fly over to meet with them after the show in Amsterdam.

And then, like sardines in a can, they are jammed into the bus. And off they go.

It's somehow even narrower on the inside than it looks on the outside, however that's possible. In the far back, there's a tiny bathroom with a rickety looking shower and a small room for Bill to sleep. Room is definitely a generous term. Closet would probably be more accurate. Then there's the little hallway lined with bunks, four on the left and four on the right. Each of the bunks has a little miniature sliding shower curtain style privacy divider. Though the bottom bunk on the right has been converted into a little cubbyhole for their plastic boxes, so it's not exactly useable. Again, the term “bunks” is pretty generous. Then there's the little living room/kitchen. There's big windows lining each wall, which isn't so bad, and there's a suede couch against each. There's a little pull out table too, and cabinets lining the wall by a little microwave and the mini fridge. The cabinets are filled with blankets and pillows, not food. Which Danny immediately complains about.

Bianca takes charge, distributing the blankets and pillows while Courtney tries to communicate with Bill about the next stop but he doesn't know quite what to make of her accent, so that doesn't go very well. After about five minutes of listening to Courtney yell-talk in her very best non-regional American accent, Jason crawls soundlessly into the top bunk on the right. Detox takes the other top bunk, and the rest of the queens are left scrabbling for the remaining bunks. Soon there's only two bunks left, and Matt, Bianca and Courtney staring them down. Matt bows out gracefully, proclaiming the couch to be his territory. Bianca and Courtney share a loaded glance.

“Y'know,” Courtney begins, “Roy and I could, uh, share?”

But Matt just shakes his head. “It's fine,” he shrugs, “I'm claustrophobic, so I'd probably end up out here anyways.”

“If you're sure. . ?” Bianca says with frown.

“Nah, it's fine. Just, like, tell me whenever you plan on the bunk being free,” Matt coughs a little, his face reddening, “and I'll, uh, I'll use it then. Maybe. No big deal.”

“It might happen more often than you'd think,” Courtney murmurs softly as he sashays past, and Matt goes full on firetruck red. Bianca, too, departs with a laugh.

Matt plops onto the couch, burying his face into his pillow. He supposes, as he tries desperately to think of anything but Courtney and Bianca, uh, _sharing_ , that this tour bus situation may not be quite as bad as it initially seemed.

His headache creeps back, drilling into his skull. He winces with how suddenly he feels the ick of last night slide back into his body.

And so he's extremely thankful that he gets caught up in the swaying of the bus and the rumble of the engine and he lets its carry him away.

\- - -

He's woken with a jolt, a shout and an ass twerking in his face. The ass is Danny's, of course, a wry grin splattered over the other boy's mouth. It's sort of infectious, and Matt can't help but grin a little back. The jolt is Courtney, shoving his legs out of the way so that he can sit down on the couch too. The shout is Willam and Detox, arguing about fucking tucking tape again.

“Jeezus, would you two banshees pipe down already!” Bianca howls, “it's hard enough to get Billy boy over here to understand what I'm saying. Now,” he shouts, turning back to Bill, “where is our next stop?”

“Nest top?” Bill shouts back.

“NO, NEXT TOP. Shit, I MEANT STOP. NEXT STOP.” Bill just blinks in slow confusion. Bianca groans, throwing his hands up in the air. “I'm done. If you cunts want food, you can give it a try with this tortoise.”

“Just talk in his left ear, idiot.” Willam seems particularly venomous and snappish when he stands and slides back into his bunk.

“I already tried that, ya dumb bimbo. Now outta my way,” Bianca yells, pushing his way through the others, “gotta take a piss.”

It takes a while, and two more girls give it a fairly frustrated go with old Bill, but eventually Matt comes up with the idea of writing a message with in his sketch book and showing it to Bill.

“Food?” Bill reads the note, thinks for a moment and then looks up. “We'll stop at a grocery store in about an hour,” he mumbles.

There's an audible sigh of relief. As much as they joke about never eating, food is very near and dear to all of their little cross-dressing hearts, even if it's in extreme moderation for some. They all seem to sort of relax again. Matt slumps up against Danny, and buries his face in the other boy's shoulder to avoid the sharp glares Jason keeps firing at him. Danny rests his hand on Matt's back, running up and down in small circles. The swaying of the bus and the rumbling of the engine and the warmth of Danny are just enough, it turns out, to send him right back asleep.

\- - -

The bus isn't moving anymore, and Danny is shaking him awake.

“C'mon girl! We only have twenty minutes bitch! Let's gooooo,” Danny groans pulling a very disoriented Matt to his feet. It takes Matt about fifteen seconds to realize that they are going to get food, and then he proceeds to right himself and shake the sleep off, scrubbing at his eyes as Danny pulls him off the bus.

“C'mon girl!” Danny yells, tugging at Matt's arm again.

“Bitch!” Matt screeches in a perfect Mystique Summers Madison impression, “I WILL WHOOP YOUR FUCKIN' ASS! I AM FROM CHICAGO!”

They run into the store, hand in hand, laughing like hyenas.

“What do you want?” Matt gasps once their sneakers hit the linoleum.

“Pizza flavored goldfish crackers, Doritos, peanut butter, some apples and a box of cereal. Oh! And chocolate milk. Or, I guess, regular milk and chocolate syrup.” Danny reads methodically off of the list he's clutching in his fist.

“I just need a bunch of microwave popcorn and some granola,” Matt replies. “Divide and conquer then bitch?”

Danny grins. “If you think I'm letting your sweaty fuckin fist go, so you can go fall asleep in an aisle or something, you've got another thing coming.”

“Fifteen minutes!” Willam shouts as he barrels past them and back to the bus, the clinking of his brown paper bags surely betraying the copious amounts of alcohol he had purchased.

And so off they go, laughing and stumbling around the grocery store.

It's only once the bus is pulling out of the parking lot that someone realizes that, due to lack of planning, no one bought any utensils or bowls or cups. There's a fuckload of food, just nothing to eat it with.

Matt writes another question to Bill: When r we stopping next?

Bill reads it carefully, chews on his bottom lip and then replies slowly, to the great disdain of all, “Ten hours or so.”

While it's slightly miraculous that Bill can drive so long without falling over, or having to piss. this now means that they have to eat their dinner straight from the package. Which is fun, for sure.

“It's all part of the adventure,” Courtney says, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. “While this may be Willam's fault, er, technically, because he was put in charge of utensils and just bought, um, drinks, we will make the best of this! That was my best DeLa, how was it?” He jokes with a small smile.

“Look,” Matt speaks up, “at least we have food right? Like it could be worse.”

“Exactly,” Courtney beams. “We are crafty drag queens, we are thrifty drag queens, we are drag queen drag queens! And drag queens work with what they have! So let's have us some dinner girls!”

And they all cheer a little.

Dinner is messy, and they're watching a hallmark movie as they go, so it's probably twice as hard as it actually needs to be. But they all get enough to eat, somehow.

And when they all trail off to use the toilet, at eleven thirty or so, to start getting ready for bed, they begin realizing that all their changes of clothing are trapped under the bus.

“Well, I feel like a goddamn fucking fool!” Willam announces. “No clean clothes, no pajamas, no toothbrush, but at least I have Cuervo gawdamnit.”

Detox gives a little cheer, but thankfully neither of them decide to crack into the liquor-bank tonight. Matt is tempted, but thankfully thinks better of it, because it's him that Bill will be shaking awake in nine hours or so when they stop. So that they can buy some fucking bowls and spoons and forks and shit.

Matt strips off his shirt and shorts, beyond thankful that he decided to go with boxers this morning, and reclines on the couch, tugging the blanket around himself.

Yeah, it's been sort of disorganized and chaotic (they're drag queens, what do you expect, really?) but as he listens to them all clamoring around in their tombstones and murmuring goodnight to each other, he thinks that, just maybe, they're going to be alright.

Just when it's gotten silent and peaceful Danny shouts, “NIGHT PEARLIE!” at the top of his lungs. And as the bus erupts into groans and a chorus of “Shut up's” Matt grins.

Yeah they're definitely going to be alright. Because Jason or no Jason, he is determined to make this fucking work. Because, Jason or no Jason, he has Bianca, he realizes with a smile. And Courtney, and Danny. And soon he'll have Max and Katya. And he thinks he can probably convince Willam and Detox to like him. He has a great personality, after all.

And so Matt falls asleep, the list of everyone who loves him cycling through his head. And he barely thinks of Jason at all. Barely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can-  
> kudos if you liked it  
> comment if you loved it  
> bookmark if you're nasty 
> 
> I hope that you see a rainbow from your car window on a bleary day. Have a nice one and thanks again for reading.


	8. popping stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the floor is lava, Willam wants dick, telenovela realness

It had begun with a slightly comical bang, and it was continuing with a fairly vicious whimper.

The last two days had been hellish, to say the least. Bill refuses to stop the bus for more than twenty minutes at a time until they get to their first hotel, which is still a day away, and he won't let them go outside to stretch their legs and get some air. Matt hasn't gotten the chance to smoke in over 36 hours and it's shot his nerves straight to fuckin' hell.

“My legs are going to shrivel up and fall right off,” Danny is sprawled on the couch, his head resting heavily in Matt's lap. He hasn't moved from this position in five hours, he even ate breakfast here, shoveling pizza goldfish into his mouth while Matt watched Sound of Music on the TV and tried to sketch Hans in drag. 

“They just might,” Jason's voice is cold and even and stinging. “Muscle atrophy, bitch.” Suddenly, Danny jerks, kicking his legs up into the air, narrowly missing Jason's face with his foot. Jason snaps his head around and burns into him with an acidic glare, to which Danny responds with a subtle but tasteful middle finger.

“Whoops,” Danny blinks sweetly. “Guess my legs still fucking work. My fingers too, how bout that?”

The bus is eerily silent for about a minute afterwards. It's the longest fucking minute of Matt's life. Bianca's eyes stab holes into him, like Matt's supposed to control them or something. Like it's Matt's fault that Danny and Jason have been acting like little kids since the tour bus doors closed. Like it's his fault that they hate each other's guts. Like it's his fucking fault that Jason is here at all. Like he asked for any of this.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

“I feel like I haven't moved in a thousand years,” Courtney croaks awkwardly, curling and uncurling his legs from his perch on the end of the sofa.

“I want a hot meal and to piss in a toilet that doesn't slosh, or need to be emptied at every other fucking stop,” Bianca growls, burying his face in Courtney's neck. Detox raises an eyebrow. In these close quarters, with tempers flaring and everyone on high alert, Matt apparently isn't the only observant one anymore.

“I want some dick,” Willam declares loudly from his bunk, where he's been lying in suspicious silence all morning.

“Hear, hear!” Detox choruses.

“How nice. Well, lucky for you, we all seem to be in possession of those.” Bianca snaps. Courtney slowly starts massaging his temples. The bus ride has not been kind to Bianca, or his roladex of hate.

“I want some _big_ dick,” Willam's still in his bunk but the shit-eating grin he's wearing is clear for everyone to hear.

“For god's sake-”

“I have a big dick,” Matt blurts, desperately trying to relieve the tension.  There's a second or two of pause as it sinks in and then Matt folds back into the couch with a sigh as the queens howl around him. They've all gone into hysterics, slapping cushions and kicking their feet into the walls and wiping tears from their eyes. Drag queens, basically four year olds with raunchier senses of humor. Who knew?

The only one who isn't laughing is the one who's been silently staring out the window for the last four hours, slowly working his jaw. He, ironically enough, is also the only one here who has been formally introduced to Matt's dick. Matt shivers a little. It had been a nice introduction.

_We shouldn't._

_Should._

_No._

_Really?_

_Yeah. . ._

_Not even a little?_

_Ung. . . no. . ._

_You sure?_

_. . . fuck. . . no. . ._

_Just let me know when you've had enough._

_. . . ._

_(Matt hadn't ever, ever gotten enough. . . he still hasn't.)_

Danny jumps to his feet, wiggling his ass right in Matt's lap while he keens and cries in mock ecstasy. The others clap and cheer, flinging pennies and dollar bills at Danny who, blossoming in the attention, just bites his lip and wiggles harder, throwing his head back. Matt can feel the friction going straight to his unloved and under-appreciated dick. He grabs Danny's hips, trying to force him upwards a little but Danny just grinds down harder, the twinkle in his eye going full blown maniacal. The whole affair goes on for three or so minutes before Jason flings himself to his feet. “Do you mind,” he hisses, tripping over Detox's plastic calf on his way to his bunk.

“What crawled up his ass and died?” Bianca spits as Jason yanks the divider on his tombstone closed with an angry swish.

“My money's on Pearl's dick,” Detox murmurs, so quietly that almost no one hears it. Almost no one. Courtney's eyes travel over to Matt, then to Jason's bunk, then back to Matt.

Matt sighs, shoving Danny off of him. He quickly pulls a pillow over his stiffie, cheeks burning. When the fuck did he let this get so complicated?

\- - -

They eat dinner clustered around the TV, watching some cheap telenovela that no one, save Bianca, can seem to understand. Willam keeps shouting “that boy is a bottom” in Spanish whenever the camera zooms in on the main actor, which no one but a cackling Detox really seems to appreciate. Jason is nowhere to be found. He's still pouting in his bunk apparently. Danny's feet are thrown messily in Matt's lap and his brow is furrowed as he tries valiantly to explain the story.

“He's her brother and uncle, I think. No wait! They are twins, and he is actually a cholla    who is pregnant with _that_ doctor's baby. No, shit. Okay so I think that one of them was murdered and like, came back from the dead to seek revenge against _that_ dude's family. Wait, crap. Motherfucker! No that makes zero fucking sense, sorry. This bitch is that bitch's mother, but neither of them know it, and they're both pregnant with the same guy. . . I think.”

Matt just smiles faintly and closes his eyes, letting the noise and chaos sort of wash over him and into nothingness.

He's counting down the hours until he can run and leap and skip and frolic and smoke a goddamn cigarette.

\- - -

The light of the sun makes it surprisingly easy to forget the shattered mess that he's become lately. It's far harder to ignore when the shadows are inky and deep, when he's the only one awake. When he's left alone with his thoughts.

He's falling apart at the seams. 

He can't fall asleep for the life of him. He counts sheep, stretches, thinks of yawning kittens, the whole nine friggin yards. His efforts, though valiant, are unsuccessful.

His mind is roaming far too much. His head spins and dances and darts, too quickly to be caught. So he stumbles to the kitchen, creaks open a cabinet, clutches the bottle wrapped in brown paper that lurks within.

His palms are slick with sweat, his head is throbbing. Willam is going to kill him. But as he hobbles back to the couch, his hands shaking, he can't bring himself to give a single, solitary shit. He swigs, once, twice, again, gasping and choking as the alcohol punches him in the jaw. And it's his turn to glare out the window, jaw working as he watches the darkened landscape rush past.

It's weird how fast they're going in terms of everything else. How tall the trees stand, how deep their roots sink into the earth. From this angle, it sort of looks like the trees are running backwards, fleeing from something terrible and unimaginable. Something horrifying that the bus is charging straight into the middle of.

Something big is looming on the horizon, Matt is deliriously sure of it. Call it a prediction, a premonition, the truth. Matt knows it is coming, and it will be large and awful and earth-shattering and it will change everything.

And he's not sure whether the change will be something that he wants, or something that he needs. And he's not sure that there's currently a difference between the two.

His head is still spinning like crazy, the tequila adding a rocking motion that makes him dizzy.

He has a heart in his chest. One that beats and screams and shoves the blood madly through his veins. It's crazy, is what it is. That his skin pulses with the life of something he'll never live to meet.

His stomach sloshes as more tequila burns down his throat, setting an unquenchable fire as it goes. His crazy fucking heart just pumps away, shooting life into his body. Sometimes he wishes it would take a break. Have a nap. Let him die a little.

“Matt?” Jason is awake and alert and standing in the little hallway between the bunks.

Matt's going to fall over, the bus is driving on it's side, wheels rolling, and there's lava on the floor and it is burning through his feet and up his legs and hips and stomach and into the gaping cavity of his chest, where his heart is still pounding furiously. He spins a little on his heel, his arms outstretched, his fingers splayed as he searches for balance.

Jason edges his way closer, closer. There's no longer a question resting on his face, it’s been peeled back to reveal something dark, something purposeful. He steps with careful intent and Matt's heart crashes through a wall as it tries to flee. (Goddamn tour bus, nowhere to run.)

Jason comes closer and closer still until Matt stops breathing, he's still stumbling, teetering just over the edge of sanity. There's a hand reaching reaching reaching for Matt and it's pushing him down and he's falling slowly back onto the couch, toes digging into the shag carpet, lava creeping up his neck.

Jason sinks to his knees and Matt goes cold. This is so very, very, painfully familiar. Jason moves between Matt's legs, sliding them apart. His face is consumed by shadows as he leans forward, tugging at the waistband of Matt's boxers with one pale hand and then he's branding Matt's skin with the heat of his mouth, the iron poker of his tongue, the hot coals masquerading as his lips. Matt is dying, he's dying, he's dead. His heart has stopped, been revived and stuttered to a halt again and it won't be beating properly anytime soon. 

Matt forgets. He forgets about the empty bottle of tequila that's clinking softly at Jason's feet. He forgets about Bill the dinosaur who is driving this damn bus, and about Willam and Detox and Danny and all the other queens who are asleep not five feet away. Matt forgets about the fights, the lies, the cheating. Matt forgets the end and the beginning. Fuck, he forgets his own name.

Jason is methodical, practiced. He's marking, claiming, owning, destroying. He's tearing Matt apart in the way only he knows how, and he's burning all the pieces so the damage can never be undone. He's ripping into old wounds and popping all the stitches, scattering them across the floor as the stale blood bubbles over and mixes with the molten fire that's hissing and burning on Matt's heaving chest. 

Matt clenches his fists around nothing, holds it as hard as he can, and still manages to let it slip through his fingers.

He bites back his moans so hard his lips spill blood and his teeth ache. 

He throws his head back until all he can see is the ceiling and then the stars.

He stays up there, flying with the stars until its safe to come back down.

When he does float back to earth, shivering and whimpering softly, Jason is gone.

It's like he was never even there.

And it’s a pretty safe bet that he never actually was.

It's a pretty safe bet that Matt made up this whole damned thing.

He’s always been a fucking sadist at heart.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

He barely makes it to the toilet before he heaves.

He barely makes it to the couch before he blacks out.

\- - -   

His mouth is dry, his breath is foul, his brain is smashing itself over the head with a folding chair and this might be the end, it truly might.

The others give him a wide berth this morning.

Last night is illuminated in the bright sun and it is not exactly cheery about being on display.

It’s apparent to all what has happened.

He had half limped half stumbled to the couch after chucking his guts, and he hadn’t bothered even trying to hide the tequila bottle, not to mention the fact that Danny had found him retching into the toilet this morning. The acrid smell of vomit permeates everything. There are no secrets among queens.

Bianca seems concerned, Willam wants his booze back, Detox is indifferent, Courtney is tactfully trying to remove himself from judgement and Danny looks confused. Jason won’t look at him.

They’re tip-toeing around him, perching on top of eggshells. Even the usually tactless Willam seems to be moving quietly, like Matt’s a dormant volcano about to explode.

Matt hates pity, hates it so fucking much. Sympathy seems to be the undercurrent of the day, and Matt has had just about enough.

“So I got drunk. FUCKING SUE ME,” he shouts, sending his glass crashing into the opposite window. “I’ll buy you more of whatever it was. And anyways, it’s not like we all haven’t done it before. Just fucking stop looking at me like I have six eyes, okay? Fuck! I’m fine! Jesus CHRIST.” Matt squeezes the tears in and claws at his face frantically.

The silence is truly suffocating.

Danny steps forward, planting a firm hand on Matt’s arm.

“C’mere,” he whispers, pulling Matt out of the spotlight that’s been cast so blindingly bright on the couch. “Take my tombstone,” he murmurs, shoving Matt into the narrow space. “You need some space.”

Matt has no arguments for that one.

“I’ll wake you up when we get to the hotel.” Danny turns away, headed back to the couch.

“Wait,” his own broken whisper sounds foreign and desperate and he cringes away from it, shrinking further into the darkness. Danny stops, swivels around slowly. He’s cautious, like he’s afraid that Matt is going to fall off of this narrow precipice where they stand and send everything crashing down with him. He stands there, trembling, looking so fucking scared, and it makes Matt sink into himself with shame.

“Stay?” His voice cracks, and his shell does too. The tears cut down his face, slicing open his skin, baring his secrets for all to see. He shudders, curving into himself as he cries silently, violently, suddenly; his emotions and his self respect dancing a dangerous jig, stabbing into him with their heels.

And then Danny is squeezing his way in and holy shit these bunks were not made for two and they’re so close, and the warmth is almost overwhelming and then Danny is wrapping his arms around Matt and he just holds on.

And the bus drives and Matt cries his little muffled, shaky sobs and he is sure, without a doubt, that these arms are the only thing keeping him from breaking into a thousand little pieces.

\- - -

_Matt, I’m in love with you. Fuck._

_You’re not._

_I am._

_You don’t even fucking know me._

_I do._

_I don’t even know you, apparently._

_You do._

_Stop it Jason! Fucking stop. Get out, just get the fuck out._

_Okay. Fine._

_Don’t act so dejected. You don’t fucking mean anything you say! You’re a fucking liar Jase, a fucking liar. You lied then and you’re lying now. The difference between then and now is that I see through it now._

_Matt, SHUT UP FOR ONE SECOND AND LISTEN PLEASE. I love you._

_You think this is going to fix everything? Just a bunch of bullshit words you don’t even mean?_

_I do mean them. And I’m sorry if I was scared of it before, or whatever, but it’s the fucking truth._

_Before? Before or after I trusted you with everything I had and you stabbed me in the fucking back? Before or after you crushed me? Before or after you smashed me under your heel and threw me to the fucking dogs? Before or after that?_

_Screw you. If you had wanted us to be a thing you should have fucking owned up to me a long time ago, you spineless bastard. And maybe it’s just one big, elaborate excuse, but so fucking what? You hid me, Matt. You hid me for seven months because you didn’t want people to know about me.  How was I supposed to feel? You were just as much of a coward as I was. You are terrified of people finding out about us, about me. How is that supposed to make me feel? How am I supposed to feel about that? Answer me, dammit!_

_Leave. GET OUT. We’re done. I’m sick of this bullshit._

_You can fuck right off Matt. At least I opened my fucking eyes, at least I fucking TRIED._

_Tried? You don’t think I tried? Well you have another thing coming._

_Get off your fucking high horse and talk to me! I’m sick of being talked at._

_I’m sick of you._

_Yeah?_

_Yeah._

_Really?_

_Really. I’m sick of your excuses and the sound of your fucking whiny, conceited voice and I’m sick of the way you never ever slow down, and I’m sick of everything being a goddamn competition to you. And I’m sick of your fucking terrible face and your shitty fucking mouth. You smell terrible and your nose is fucking hooked and your hair looks matted and gross all the time and I hate it and I hate you._

_I don’t hate you but I hate this._

_I’m so fucking done with you._

_Okay then Matt. Have it your way._

_I’m sure you can do so much better._

_You better fucking believe I can._

_Good luck finding someone else to put up with you and your big fucking ego. There’s not enough blow jobs in the world that can make up for that._

_Fuck off Matt. Leave me alone. And never, NEVER, accuse me of not trying. I tried, you asshole. I tried and tried and all you did was fucking break my heart. And for your information, I can, in fact, do so, so much better. But I’m not in love with better. I’m in love with you._

_Like that fucking matters. Like that’s the fucking truth. You can’t love Jason. You have to be a decent fucking human being to love someone and I’m afraid that’s lost on you._

_FUCK YOU._

_Fine._

_Fine._

_Get out then._

_Fine. For the record? I’m going to fucking miss your sorry ass, more than you even deserve to know. And you care about me more than you’ll ever admit._

_I don’t care about YOU._

_Right. Goodbye, Matt. Have a nice fucking day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it! i know it's been sort of funnier lately and not quite so serious, but this needed to happen. pearl and violet will have their moment, i promise.


	9. it's not easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they stop at a hotel, rhonda's not having it, nothing makes sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves, we are nearing the end. before you read i have two things to say  
> the first: my largest gratitude to everyone who has read or given kudos, or commented. I appreciate the time you took out of your day to read my writing and tell me what you thought about it and i'm so glad that so many of you liked it as much as you did. 
> 
> I will be done with this fic soon * gasp * and i'm desperately out of ideas for new fics/oneshots etc, so if anyone wants me to write a prompt or a pairing or anything at all for them, just comment it on this story or tumblr message me about it. I love to write and I love when people want to read what I write so just tell me what you want to read and I will do my gosh darned diddly best to make it wonderful m'kay?
> 
> This was my first foray into fanfiction, and I thank each and every one of you for making it really nice. 
> 
> The second: this is where smut happens. Exciting, I know. It's not super happy and caring though. It's consensual, don't worry. It gets very angry and there's lots of pent up emotion, but no one is being forced into anything they do not consent to.  
> Here's to hoping it's not too terribly written.
> 
> Enjoy :)

 The queens whoop and laugh and dance across the darkening parking lot and into the hotel, the shitshow from this morning momentarily forgotten. Matt's got a cigarette in one hand and Danny in the other and the sun is setting and he couldn't be more relieved that tonight his bed will be stationary.

Soon they have their suitcases, trunks, luggage and favorite snacks slung everywhere in the lobby of the small hotel.

“Excuse me sir,” the woman at the front desk points at Matt with one long fingernail. “But you can't smoke in the hotel.” He scowls but she just taps her employee badge. It reads Rhonda, desk manager. Matt groans, stabbing out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot.

Bill explains that they should have rooms reserved under Roy Haylock, which is news to everyone. Apparently Michelle had known about their little detour for a while and had the forethought to book rooms for them. Bianca flashes his ID with a blindingly dimpled smile. Rhonda looks exhausted, underpaid and completely unimpressed. You'd think that a tour bus full of drag queens would manage to lift anyone's spirits. Apparently not.

Jason excuses himself to use the bathroom.

Matt's eyes follow him a beat too long.

Rhonda grabs three room keys and throws them at Bianca with a vicious snap of her gum. Bill wobbles back out to the bus, where he'll be spending the night. Matt is beginning to suspect that he can't leave the bus for longer than is absolutely necessary, like there's a curse on him or some shit. Rhonda turns to the next customer and they move aside, scraping their luggage across the floor.

They have a problem.

A Violet sized problem.

Three rooms, six beds, seven queens.

Violet Chachki was obviously not a planned part of this equation.

“D-W!” Willam tosses the key to room 117 from hand to hand.

“Roy and I will take 111,” Courtney sing-songs, snagging the key.

“I'll room with Danny,” Matt breathes out, grabbing at the key for room 123. He slings his arm around Danny's shoulders but the other boy ducks back sheepishly.

“Sorry Matt,” he mumbles, dragging his toes across the floor. “I, uh, think you and Violet should, y'know, talk it out. I'll stay with you guys?” He asks, looking hopefully at Bianca and Courtney.

“'Course dear,” Courtney runs a playful hand through Danny's hair. Of course Bianca and Courtney had been planning to share a bed to begin with.

Matt's heart is thumping dangerously quickly in his chest. He can't room with Jason. Not again. His head spins as he whips around to face Detox, a desperate cry for help resting on the tip of his tongue.

“Please-” he starts, but Detox cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“If you take my advice, you two should just fuck and get it over with.” Detox waggles his eyebrows. “I'm sick of the fucking tension on the tour bus. I've about had it. Sorry boo.” But he doesn't sound sorry at all.

And then the queens are walking away, heading to their respective rooms. Danny stays behind for a moment, his eyes sorrowful as he gently grabs Matt's piercing and gives it a tug.

“I think it will be good for you,” he whispers. “Text me if there's an emergency and you can camp out with us.” He smiles softly, and then he's gone.

And then Matt is left alone in the hall, holding the room key, surrounded by baggage.

\- - -

Jason emerges from the bathroom not twenty seconds later, drying his hands on the sides of his jeans.

“I thought you were staying with Adore?” Jason asks as he gathers his things.

“I thought so too.” Matt jingles the key in his hands, pressing the rough edge into his palm until it leaves a mark. He wonders if now is too soon to call in his emergency get out of jail free card from Danny.

Jason laughs, short and sharp. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No. It's not. . . we're not. . . no.” Matt stumbles through his words and Jason's eyebrow arches impossibly high.

They start to walk down the hall, the clicking of Matt's boots and the whirring of their wheeled suitcases the only sounds in the dim corridor.

“How long are we staying here?” Jason asks once they've reached their door.

“Um, just tonight? I don't really know. We're supposed to hit LA tomorrow I think.” This is easier than Matt expected, this quiet sham of a conversation. Jason nods, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair is pulled up into a bun today, tight and high. Matt chews his lip.

They crack open the door and Matt's stomach drops. It's a single. Jason laughs again and Matt wishes he would stop with the cold, dry, cynical snorting.

“Let's, uh, go and get it changed, or-” Matt trips over his words as his heart races.

“It's fine, don't freak out,” Jason snips, lugging his bags into the room and depositing them unceremoniously onto the floor. “I'll just fucking sleep in the bathtub.” It cuts deep but Matt does his best to shake it off. If Jason doesn't want to have the room changed, if Jason can deal with this, so can he.

They spend the next half an hour rearranging the hotel room in silence.

Matt slumps onto the bed. There's no TV, no computer, nothing. There's also no smoking, perfectly enough.

Jason laughs again, and it's real this time. It shocks Matt out of his lull and he jerks up, staring incredulously at the other boy. The laughter is loud and deep and shaking and it seems like it goes on forever.

“What's so funny?” Matt knows he sounds accusatory, but he can't help but feel defensive.

“You know what's really fucking funny?” Jason gasps, his torso wriggling, “I've missed it. I've missed the sound of your fucking voice. How's that for irony bitch? I said I fucking would and I fucking do.”

Matt is silent, wary. He's not sure what qualifies as ironic, but he's pretty confident that this doesn’t exactly fit the bill.

“You know what fucking else? I'm pretty fucking glad that I'm here and Adore isn't. Isn't that perfect? Isn't that so fucking perfect? It's sublime.” Jason collapses again, the laughter rolling through his body in waves. Then, as quickly as it started, it stops. And the room is plunged into icy silence again.

A moment passes and then; “How have things been for you?” Matt cringes at the bitter taste the words leave in his mouth, slumping back against the pillows.

“Shitty. You?”

“Pretty fine, I guess.” He sincerely hopes that the lie doesn't seep through his voice too much.

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” When did Jason become so chilly, so empty? Then again, when did Matt?

“You, uh, look nice.” Matt cringes again and gives himself a sharp, mental kick to the ass.

“That's a lie,” Jason snorts. “I look like shit. So do you.”

“Thanks?” Matt can't keep his tentative smile from creeping into his voice.

Jason shrugs, he smiles but it's tight, stretched thinly over his mouth. “It's the truth.”

“If I didn't know you better, I'd call you an asshole.”

“You don't think I'm an asshole? News to me. Considering you've been avoiding my ass for the last five months. ”

Insert pregnant pause here.

“So,” Jason starts. “You and Adore, huh? Can't say I'm really surprised.” He cuts himself off with another biting laugh.

Matt doesn't have it in him to tell the truth, and he definitely doesn't owe Jason any fucking explanations. So he just chews his lip again, tearing into the already ragged flesh as he thinks of something to say.

“S'been a while,” he mumbles finally. “Since we talked.”

Jason coughs.

“I'm gonna, uh, turn the light off?” Matt slides out of bed, flicks the switch. “We all need some rest,” he mutters, stepping carefully over Jason on his way back to the bed.

There's silence for a while, some quiet rustling. Jason coughs again.

“You can, um, sleep up here if you want. It's not exactly a new thing, and I'm not five years old so-” Matt is cut off by Jason diving onto the bed next to him. Jason grins as he wriggles under the covers, batting his eyelashes heavily. Matt grins back for a split second before he remembers. This isn't Violet and Pearl from a year ago, this is Violet and Pearl now. Everything is different and as much as he wants it to be, nothing is easy. Everything is confusing.

Matt's throat seizes up, realization kicking him straight in the lungs

“Hi,” Jason whispers, turning on his side to face Matt.

“Hey.” Matt whispers back, shifting onto his back to avoid the other boy's searching gaze.

The streetlight in their window flickers softly, casting a strange glow over everything.

Matt watches the blinking red light of the fire detector until his eyes burn.

“Wanna know a secret?” Jason laughs nervously as he says it. “I'm really fucking horny right now.”

Matt can hear the blood roaring through his veins, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Wanna know another big fucking secret?” Jason sits up, moving closer. Matt is frozen again, he can't move, can't breathe, can't blink. Everything is strange, alien, unreal. The world has turned to syrup, sludging into a large, sticky, droopy mess. “You may look like shit but you're still the hottest fucking person that I have ever seen.”

The streetlight flickers. Everything is crashing together and Matt isn't sure he can take it for much longer. It has been nothing, nothing, nothing for so long and now he's a glutton for this strange punishment, now it's Violet, Violet, Violet, and if he's not careful he's going to overdose and end up cold and shuddering on the bathroom floor all over again.

Jason moves in a flash, straddling Matt's hips and leaning down until their noses just barely brush. Matt swallows a moan as Jason adjusts himself on Matt's lap, breath hot.

“And something else,” he bites out as he grinds down on Matt's dick with a breathy moan, “you may be an asshole, and you may hate my fucking guts, but I want you so goddamn much right now.”

“Me too,” Matt manages, the words running into each other the second they slip out of his mouth. “I want you too.”

He grabs Jason's hips, twisting them both with a deft flip. “I want you on your fucking stomach, with your fucking ass in the air,” Matt hisses, knowing full well how much Jason hates to lose control. Jason furrows his brows, choking out a gasp as Matt ruts into him. Jason's eyes are fire and god this is so fucking good, Matt's missed this so fucking much.

“Shirt off,” Jason bites out, clawing his fingers into Matt's back, scrabbling desperately for the upper hand. Matt complies, flinging his shirt to the ground. Jason rakes his nails down Matt's chest, then rips his own shirt off.

Matt pulls the hair tie out of Jason's bun and digs his fingers into Jason's hair, tugging sharply. Jason moans, canting his hips up. Their heaving chests press together as they moan and writhe wearing nothing but their pants like fucking teenagers. Jason sloppily bites his way up Matt's neck and jaw and the sharp pains send shivers up Matt's spine.

Their lips crash together and the world explodes.

There's no finesse here, no calculation.

This kiss is all teeth, all tongue, all blinding anger.

Jason sinks his teeth into Matt's lip, drawing blood.

Matt yanks on Jason's hair with a growl, exposing his neck. He kisses his way down Jason's body, stopping only to tongue his nipple rings and then to tug his jeans off. He's wearing red fucking panties underneath and dammit if it isn't the hottest thing Matt has ever seen. But those have to go too, so Matt rips them away, baring the pale, smooth dick underneath. Jason hisses and throws his head back as Matt licks a stripe down it, pressing crescent moons into the sensitive skin with his fingernails. Jason keens, his head smashing the headboard against the wall.

Matt nips his way back up Jason's body.

“Fucking hate you,” Jason grits through clenched teeth, anger pulsing in his eyes. “Fucking selfish bastard.”

Jason yelps as Matt bites his collarbone. “Flip over,” Matt growls, pausing to shed his own pants and boxers. Jason just smirks and wraps his finger around Matt's nose ring, yanking on it until tears sting Matt's eyes. “Flip the fuck over,” Matt spits as he sinks his teeth into Jason's neck, subduing him.

Jason relents, gasping and grabbing the headboard with both hands as Matt forces his ass up in the air.

It's just as perfect as it was the last time Matt saw it, and just looking at it makes him ache.

“Don't have all fucking day,” Jason chokes out with another cold laugh. “Hurry it the fuck up.”

Matt doesn't hesitate again.

They both shudder as Matt presses against his entrance, Jason's back tenses as he whimpers.

Matt fucks up into him, moving impossibly quickly.

It's angry, it's raw, it fucking hurts.

_Pain is everything, bitch._

Jason grits his teeth and takes it, sobbing a little, squeezing his eyes shut around his tears.

(He's not crying because of the pain, or in spite of it. He's crying because all he can smell, all he can hear, all he can feel, is Matt. And it's so fucking good and so fucking terrible. And he's missed this more than he will ever admit.)

Matt is crying too, for another reason altogether.

(Everything he's been avoiding for the last five months is suddenly real and raw and right in front of him, and there's no ignoring it now. He can't just push it aside anymore.)

They're both crying silently and fucking and the headboard is slamming against the wall, and Matt's leg knocks over the lamp on the bedside table and it falls to the ground with a crash but he couldn't care less.

The sick feeling is settling in the pit of his stomach again, but he fucks it away, smashing their bodies together in a mangled, sweaty mess.

Matt finishes with a strangled groan, and as quickly as it began, it's over.

He rolls over onto his back, panting. Jason flops onto his stomach, tugging at his cock until he too comes with a groan and a shudder.

“I'm supposed to be angry at you.” Jason sighs, slumping onto his back too. “I'm supposed to be really fucking angry at you. Why is that so hard? What's so fucking hard about it?”

\- - -

When Matt wakes up the next morning, they are tangled hopelessly together. Jason's smooth skin is a drug, it's all he wants, all he needs, everything he was never supposed to have, everything he never knew he could have again.

Everything is different now. The wounds are fresh and stinging, the tears are palpable.

He shoots off a text to Danny: need to talk 2 u

Matt's hand shakes as he pulls on some sweatpants and a ragged shirt. He needs a cigarette.

\- - -

He's sitting cross legged on the curb, busy puffing away, when Danny finds him.

He waves a little, plopping down on sidewalk beside Matt.

“Knew I'd find you out here,” Danny smiles.

Matt offers the box of cigarettes to Danny, but the boy just smiles a little and shakes his head, gesturing vaguely to his vocal chords.

The only noise for a while is the occasional rush of a car speeding past on the highway. It's not easy like it is supposed to be.

“We fucked,” Matt blurts, stabbing his cigarette into the ground, smothering the flame with a little twist. “Last night. We fucked.”

Another deadly silence. Matt's life seems to be full of those lately.

“What do you want me to say?” Danny mutters. “Congratulations? Good job champ?”

“I don't know. Something? Anything?” Matt is desperate, pleading. He's clinging to Danny with all that he has, selfish though it is. He needs help, he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know how to fix this. He's not even sure what this is. He just wants Danny to hold him and rub his back and tell him everything is going to be alright, goddamn it.

Danny just swallows thickly.“Something. Anything. Good job champ.” His tone is biting, his words are steel. And then he's gone. And Matt is alone. And he has no idea what the fuck he's supposed to do.

Katya. He needs Katya.

\- - -

His hands shake as he dials the number into the payphone, lighting another cigarette as he goes.

It rings once, twice, before Katya picks up.

“Hello, Brian McCook-”

“Katya- Please, please, please listen to me and help me oh, god, _I fucked everything up_.” It rushes out of Matt and he's praying that Katya will hear him out.

“Pearl?”

Katya has always been so good at dealing with other people's problems.

“Fuck, yes, yes it's Pearl.”

“Calm down, calm down. What the hell happened?”

“I fucked Jason. We fucked and it was horrible and angry and now Danny's so fucking mad at me and I keep just fucking bottling this up and I can't anymore Katya, I just can't. Everything was okay and then I blew up on the tour bus because I got drunk and fucking flipped and they made Jason and I share a room and we were both so fucking horny and he's so fucking beautiful and he was right there. And so we fucked,” Matt sobs.

There's a pause and Matt is terrified for a while that Katya has hung up on him. But then Katy's voice crackles over the line, calm and steady and grounding.

“Who the fuck is Danny?”

“Adore.”

“Ah. So you and Chachki had angry make-up sex? And Abore Delamo got pissy?”

Matt ran a hand through his hair with a groan. “No. Not make-up sex. Just angry sex. And yeah, I guess.”

“Ah.”

“Please help me Katya. Please.” Matt is crying again, tears dripping off of his chin and splashing onto the pavement.

“I've already helped you all that I can. I don't know Vi very well at all, I've never even spoken to Delano. Just talk to them. That's all the advice I can give. Just _live_ Pussywillow.”

Matt sucks in air, clutching his cigarette to his lips like it's the only thing sending oxygen into his lungs.

“Look,” Katya continues, “I'm due to meet up with the tour tomorrow, so if things go to shit, I can always mediate then. But I have the funniest feeling that I won't have to. Later Oyster. Talk to them.”

And then Katya is gone. And Matt is really, truly alone.

\- - -

When he slinks back into the hotel room Jason is brushing his teeth, a towel wrapped around his waist. Matt stumbles over Jason's open suitcase, falling onto the bed. Then, he waits.

The taps creak as the water runs. It shuts off with a switch.

Jason pads out of the bathroom, running a hand through his still damp hair.

His skin is soft, bright. He's so fucking beautiful Matt can hardly breathe.

“Hi,” Jason whispers, pulling his hair up into a bun.

“No! Uh, don't. Buns don't really suit you.” Matt winces, tossing his lighter onto the ground as he tries desperately to play it off smoothly.

Jason's right eyebrow curves slowly up to the ceiling.

“I thought you hated my hair?”

“No,” Matt's voice is rough, raw with the cigarettes. “No, I, uh, don't.” Jason rests a hand on his cocked hip. Matt struggles to continue. “Uh, last night when you, um, told me that you missed me, I, fuck, I, uh, miss you too?”

He's never been used to this kind of open emotional conversation.

“Why do I feel like that was a question?” Jason's face is stone.

“It wasn't. It isn't.” Matt is struggling, tearing through his mind in search of the right words. “I miss you.”

“Yeah?” Jason cocks his head, eyes so warm that Matt's chest swells a little.“Well tough shit, Sherlock," Jason snaps, cold sinking back down into his bones.

And then he releases his towel, turns around and pulls on his pants.

Matt's jaw drops, but just a little. His eyes sting, but just a little.

And by the time Jason is dressed and ready to go, Matt's face is smooth and hard. He doesn't plan on making that mistake again anytime soon.


	10. tangible sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> willam gives great advice, talking happens, hello max, hello katya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha ha ha lol so there's an extra chapter now whoops. It's my own damn fault really, because I made no outline at all for this and left waaaaaay too much to be cleared up in one chapter. so you can expect 10-part one (which is this), 10-part two (which will be chapter eleven), and possibly an epilogue, depending on whatever the fuck happens in part two aha. . .  
> sorry this took so long, suffered from serious writers block for the longest time.  
> enjoy! :P 
> 
> (find me on [tumblr](http://fuck-yeah-drag-queens.tumblr.com/) :D)

The drive to LA is torturous.  A thick silence has settled over the queens, shutting everything down and blurring all of the awkward pauses together into one large lump sum of one part eerie quiet and one part vapid humming of a shitty reality TV show.

Matt may be the slightest bit drunk. Maybe.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl. Tap.)

Jason isn't speaking to him, no surprise there. But this time around, Danny's not either.

It's a hard blow to take. It’s salt to a very fresh, very real wound.

Bianca and Courtney are pissed as hell because Danny's hurt and the worst part is Matt can't honestly blame them for thinking that he’s an asshole. Because they’re not wrong.  

Detox just smirks and licks his lips in Matt's general direction and Willam snores the whole six hour ride, so neither of them are any fucking help.

There is no laughter, no chattering, none of the usual antics. Matt just sits and shrivels.

The bus is taking them straight to their hotel, where they'll have some time to get ready, and then good old Bill will drive them to the performance venue, where Katya and Max will meet up with them. 

Then they will perform, and then they will go to the club and Matt will drink some more and dance until he can't feel anything at all and maybe he'll meet a cute nameless boy and allow himself to forget for a while and then the day will be over. Matt can't fucking wait.

\- - -

Detox waves goodbye from the curb in front of the hotel as he calls himself a cab. It's his time to leave the tour. No one is too sad. There’s not a grand production. No tears are shed. Unfortunately they haven't seen the last of his black and decker pecker wreckers.

The man at the front desk hands them four room keys. There haven’t been specifically assigned rooms since Philly, so there's a tense moment just before everyone jumps. Bianca and Courtney grab one, of course. Danny pointedly announces that he wants to room with Katya, Jason grins sharply and says he'll room with Max. Which leaves Matt and Willam.

They head to their respective rooms, dragging their suitcases full of shake and go wigs and sparkly dresses. 

Matt carries his sadness like it's a tangible thing clinging onto his shoulders. The weight of it makes his back ache.

\- - -

If there's one thing Matt immediately learns about Willam, it's that the other queen isn't quite so loud and brash in private. He's sort of serene actually, floating around with his chin punched out and his lips pursed.

Immediately Willam sets out his outfit for the night and starts prepping his wig. Matt digs through his own suitcase aimlessly, running his hands over all his nice fucking panties.

Willam's whistling and bobbing his head as he works.                                                                                                                                                                    

Matt's fighting back the urge to punch him in the jaw.

“Could you stop that that please?” Matt finally snaps, ripping his hands through his hair.

Willam tips his head to the side and cocks his head. “What's the problem Princess?” he drawls. “Am I too fucking content for your goddamn mope parade?”

Matt growls and jabs a fist into the side of his suitcase, effectively knocking it to the floor. With a curse he squats down, carelessly jamming his shit back into the bag.

Willam observes in silence for a moment and then turns back to his wig, his face soft as he starts teasing his comb through it and blasting it with hairspray.

“Boy problems?” He finally says, fluffing the wig up and jamming a handful of bobby pins into it.

“You could say that,” Matt whispers, falling back onto his bed.

Willam gnaws his lip. “Well,” he snirks, “I've had quite a few dicks in my ass, so I might be able to help you in that department. No guarantees Princess, but at least I'll have tried to cheer your sullen mug up.”

Okay, so there's no way that Willam can't be at least a little abrasive at all times.

 Matt grabs his own wig and starts messing with it.

“So,” Willam gestures vaguely towards Matt with his can of hairspray, “what the fuck happened with you and Chachki?”

Maybe Willam is also more perceptive than he seems. Or maybe they've just been that fucking obvious the entire tour.

Matt carefully gathers his words while Willam twerks his way over to his makeup case, rummaging around for something. They've definitely just been that fucking obvious, Matt decides.

“We, uh, flirted a lot. During drag race.” He doesn't know where this is coming from, but it's just spilling out of him, and he's not even really trying to stop himself. “Started messing around when everything was really simple and nice, you know?”

Matt cards his fingers through his wig nervously, waiting for a reaction. The booze he had slipped into his coffee this morning certainly isn't hurting his sudden onset of flapping gum disease.

Willam grabs Matt's wrist with one hand and his makeup case in the other and drags Matt into the bathroom so he can start working on his makeup in the mirror. Matt startles at Willam's sudden burst of energy and persistence. What the fuck does Willam care about Matt’s problems? He definitely has better things to worry about. Like that dry wig for starters.

Matt fights the urge to pull away, but Willam just nods carefully as he tamps down his eyebrows with glue so Matt continues, leaning his hip on the bathroom counter.

“It was like we were in a totally different universe from everyone else. It was great. So great. And then he won, and I was like, really happy, yeah?” Matt pauses. It's ridiculously hard for him to push the words out of his mouth. He's never talked about this before. He doesn't know what it is about Willam, but the other queen just seems like he's listening, really listening.

It's probably just the booze fuzzing up everything in Matt’s head.

“And so you got into the real world and you both freaked out and pulled away?” Willam finishes with a sympathetic twist of his lips. 

“Yeah,” Matt whispers weakly. “I was pretty determined to keep us secret. I told myself that I didn't want to get him in trouble if it came out that we were together during the race. But, um, I was just afraid of a relationship, I guess. They’ve never really worked for me in the past.”

“I feel you,” Willam nods, brow furrowing in concentration as he swipes streaks of foundation onto his chin.

“We fought constantly. He, uh, said he wasn't getting what he needed from me. So he cheated. A lot. And I caught him once, and got angry and, er, we had angry sex? He liked it. But I, um, locked myself in the bathroom afterward and . . . . kinda threw up. And then he left. He came back to my apartment a week later and told me that he was in love with me and we yelled at each other some more and I threw him out.” Matt takes a deep breath. “And I haven't seen him since.”

“But now he's here.”

“Yeah. And we've been sort of avoiding it. But last night we, uh, shared a room, right? And um. . .” Matt trails off, face reddening.

“You fucked?” Willam supplies, digging into his pallet for more foundation.

Matt nods slowly, heading back to his bed to grab his own makeup box.

“And now Adore is jealous?” Willam asks when Matt returns, pursing his lips and tilting his jaw to apply contour.

“Yeah,” Matt mumbles, the word jealous tossing around in his head as he fumbles with his own foundation. “I guess.”

“Well,” Willam sing-songs, pressing a sponge of highlight along his nose. “I don't know if you've been told this before or not, but talking directly about the problem usually works pretty damn well. Or you could just anger-fuck some more. Both are highly effective, but one's considerably less fun than the other. Up to you Princess.”

\- - -

“Darlings!” Max greets them with the most elegant squeal Pearl has ever heard as she runs towards them like some freakishly pale gazelle.

“Assholes!” Katya coos, throwing her arms wide open to embrace the large black bouncer that is holding the backstage door for them.

Pearl snorts out a laugh when the man tenses up before shrugging Katya off of him with a grimace.

This, Pearl decides as they line up single file to head backstage, is sort of nice.

Of course, Willam, Katya and Max are the only people that are currently speaking to him. (And that's only because Max has no idea what's happening, Willam is. . . Willam, and Katya is as unbiased as a person in this situation could possibly be.) But still, when Pearl closes her eyes and pretends like the last twenty four hours are just a strange blur, it's sort of nice.

\- - -

The show goes on without a hitch. Pearl keeps to the back and lets the others do their thing. Katya and Max were surprise editions to the show and the crowd goes wild for them. For Violet, too.

Pearl can't manage to tear her eyes away as Violet does her burlesque strip tease. No one can, but for someone who has seen this same slow, sultry, dance hundreds of times, Pearl is staring with a pretty fucking pathetic look on her face. Yep, Pearl is pathetic, and now everyone knows it, so why bother trying to hide it anymore?

It's just been a matter of time, she supposes.

\- - -

Music is pounding in Matt's ears. Throbbing, careening and echoing dimly in his ribcage.

The rushing, tumbling reverberations of the thrumming song perfectly match the pulse fluttering madly behind his slick skin. He squeezes his eyes shut against the flashing strobes and leans into the beat, lets it carry him away, hips oscillating violently, arms undulating through the air.

He is a small, nameless thing afloat amongst a sea of sweaty, writhing bodies. He loves, craves, _needs_ , this anonymity.

Jason is dancing too, just a few feet away. His head is lolled back, embracing the heavy rhythm. The music changes to something low, heavy, dragging. It grinds and pulses, dirty and shameful.

Jason's skin glows and shimmers in the flashing lights and Matt's hands sweat as he stares.

Jason flips his head back up, running a hand over his birdlike collarbones.

_How does this thing work?_

_You can look but you can't touch. You ready?_

_As I'll ever be._

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

His eyes glint as they strike against Matt's. It's like flint to a rock, sparking up a fire that has nowhere to go, a fire that will consume everything, a fire that will leave nothing and no one standing in its wake.

Suddenly there's a man behind Jason, grabbing his hips, pulling him back. Jason's mouth forms a perfectly surprised circle that slowly fades into a sultry smile. Matt grits his teeth, punches his fists into his pockets, sets his jaw, sways his hips. But as hard as he tries, he can't seem to lose himself in the music again. Jason and the mystery man are really dancing now, grinding and scraping against each other, rhythmic, dirty, shameless. The blissed out look on Jason's face is mesmerizing, hypnotizing and so fucking familiar. Matt can't help but stare.

Jason's gaze darts up and their eyes lock and everyone else disappears. Neither one of them dares to break eye contact. It's powerful. It's terrifying. Jason bites his lip around a moan and Matt's knees nearly give out. Jason throws his head back with a wide smile, displaying the marble column of his throat. Matt chokes a little.

Then the song is over, the torture is over. The music switches to a poppy Latin beat. A pale wrist grabs his shoulder and pulls him back into a spindly-limbed hug. It's Max of course. Matt spins around, grateful for the distraction.

They dance for a while, Max and Matt. Max is all smiles and awkwardly graceful limbs, Matt is stockier and better at club dancing than the more elegant queen, but still his dance moves are cringe worthy. Every so often Matt tries a casual glance over his shoulder, only to return to Max's sympathetic and knowing gaze.

(Max definitely knows more than he’s letting on.)

The possibility of losing one more person to this makes Matt’s stomach turn a little.

They mess around for a while, until the moment Matt turns around to check on Jason and he's not there.

In a split second, Matt's eyes are running everywhere around the room: not at the bar, not anywhere on the dance floor, not back at the BOTS booth. Where the fuck are they? His heart races in his chest as he desperately searches for that fucking mess of vaguely curly hair.

It's not like Jason to leave the club with someone he's just met. It's not like him at all. Max winds an arm around Matt's waist, leaning in to whisper into his ear.

“He's smart, Pearlie.”

Matt knows that. He really does. He's trying as hard as he can to not be paranoid, but there's a cold creeping feeling settling at the base of his spine that he just can't ignore. Then he sees it, the back door. It’s been propped open, and the alley behind calls to him. It’s just the sort of place JasonandMatt would have found. In a second, Matt's off, pushing his way through the wriggling limbs and convulsing bodies. He bursts through the door, exploding into the alley.

Jason is plastered up against the wall. His legs wrapped around mystery man's waist, mystery man's hands are tangled in his hair and mystery man's mouth is crawling up his neck.

Matt doesn't think twice before hauling back and punching mystery man square in the jaw. A dart of pain shrieks up his hand and he bites out a curse.

Mystery man drops Jason, staggering back. “What the fuck?! You didn't tell me you had a fucking boyfriend! Fucking slut!” He screams at Jason.

This time before punching mystery man, Matt does think twice, aiming for the soft flesh of the other man's nose instead of his chiseled jaw. “Don't fucking talk to him like that,” he spits as he swings, the impact sending another sharp jolt up his arm.

 “FUCK! Okay I get it!” Mystery man howls through the blood that's now dripping down his face. “I’m calling fucking security for your ass,” he seethes, spinning away and disappearing back into the club. Matt just stands there and heaves.

“What the hell was that?” Jason's voice is acid, burning and sharp as he stands. His eyes are menacing as he backs Matt into the alley wall.

“You should be more, um, careful,” Matt stammers, still cradling his fist to his chest. His blood is thundering in his ears. Jason's hands wrap around Matt's waist, his fingers digging sharply into Matt's skin. 

Matt blinks, Jason's eyes are dark with something cloudy and indeterminable.

“So should you,” Jason chokes out. “He could have hurt you. I was fine.”

“You're important.”

“So are you,” Jason whispers, voice trembling. He's quaking now, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he grips onto Matt, leaning to rest his forehead lightly on Matt's shoulder. Matt’s arms wind around Jason’s waist, pulling him closer.

They stay this way, tangled together in the filthy alley, until Katya tumbles out the door to cheerfully inform them that they're looking for Matt in the club due to mystery man's bleeding nose.

Matt wraps Jason's hand tightly in his and together they run to the tour bus.

\- - -

The bus is dark, the only occupant a tired and slightly confused Bill. He unlocks the door for them wearing pink bunny slippers.

“We're scheduled to go back to the hotel at midnight,” he croaks, scratching his balding head.

“We're just early. You can go back to sleep,” Matt offers. “We’ll wake you up when the others get back.”

Bill grumbles, shuffling back to his little tour bus bedroom.

“We need to talk,” Matt breathes, slumping down onto the couch that serves as his bed. Jason nods, slowly settling himself onto the other couch so he's sitting opposite Matt.

A long, tense moment slugs by.

And then Matt blurts, as quickly and casually as humanly possible: “I'm afraid of commitment.”

Jason's eyes widen at Matt's sudden truth and he blinks slowly.

(A lot is beginning to make sense.)

“I like rough sex.” Jason laughs nervously, staring down at his hands.

“I've never had a relationship that lasted longer than a month.”

“I hate peanut butter.”

“I get nervous when you do your aerial stuff.”

“You're too gentle with me sometimes."

“I'm sort of terrified of breaking you.”

“I hate when you patronize me.”

“I hate when you make me feel stupid.”

“I hate when you don't know the fucking right words for things.”

“I've never met my biological father.”

“Mine’s a dick.”

“I love the way your hair looks when you wake up in the morning.”

“I used to be able to say the alphabet backwards.”

“I was in diapers until I was three.”

“I think I'm gay.”

 A pause, a laugh.

“Me too."

“When my corsets are so tight that my body goes numb I feel kind of invincible.

“I don't cry when I chop onions.”

“I used to figure skate.”

“I had a raging crush on my older sister's boyfriend.”

“I lost my virginity to Alyss King in the tenth grade.”

“I tried acid once and had a panic attack.”

“I like to be hit.”

“I got my nose ring as a dare.”

“Sometimes I feel more like a woman than a man and it's fucking confusing.”

“Sometimes I really do sleepwalk all the time.”

“Sometimes I need to feel powerless to feel okay.”

“I tap myself on the nose to wake myself up.”

“My mother thought I was lactose intolerant for two months when I was ten because she gave me buttermilk instead of regular milk and I threw it up.”

“My favorite animals are elephants.”

“Yesterday was the first time I've had sex in five months.”

A pause, a cough.

“Me too,” Matt whispers.

And then Jason looks up from the floor, a desperate plea in his eyes.

“I try so hard to ignore it, and god knows I'm trying, but I'm so fucking in love with you. It's killing me. No one else measures up."

Matt ducks his head; it's his turn to study the shag carpet.

Another, longer pause.

“Blueberries are my favorite fruit.”

“God, Matt! You make me so fucking angry!”

“My mother wishes I had become a chef, so I could cook food for myself and not eat out so much.”

“Stop fucking ignoring me, I hate when you do this!”

“You have the longest eyelashes I have ever seen.”

“Matt-”

 “When I was six I stuck a rock in my ear so I could get out of doing the spelling bee and-”

“Matt, listen-”

“no one believed me so I still had to do it, even though-”

“Matt!”

“I couldn't hear anything out of my left ear and-”

“MATT.”

“Yes.”

“I wish you would tell me the truth.”

 “I got last place and everyone laughed at me. That was the last day I ever went to school.”

Jason flings himself to his feet, storming angrily to the door.

“No, Jason, please!” Matt’s face scrunches up. “The truth is. . . ”

 Jason freezes in his tracks, his back tensing. “What?” he snaps.

Another pause.

“I'm afraid of you.”

Jason is slow to respond, finally pivoting on his heel to glare at Matt. “What the fuck? Why?”

“Why? Because you seem to always be two seconds away from destroying me. You're going, going, gone and you always leave this big gaping emptiness that I can't ever fill. Yeah, so maybe I have trust issues, maybe I get clingy or possessive, but I just really really feel like you're always this, like, fireball running ahead and smashing in mailboxes with baseball bats and I'm just always lagging behind and picking up the pieces. And it sucks.”

Jason sucks in a heavy breath, the angry words slap him in the face and claw their way down his heaving chest.

Matt is shouting now, jaw locked, mouth drawn tight with anger. “Do you know how much it fucking sucks? To always be left behind? To never just be enough? Because I'm not am I? I'm not enough for you. And I'm really fucking sorry for that because, dammit Jason, I'm fucking in love with you too. But love doesn't fucking make things work, love can't fucking fix everything. This isn't a rainbow, or a Hallmark movie, or unicorn ville. This isn't a fairy tale, there is no happy ending. This is a shitty gay porn at absolute best. We meet, fuck a few times and then the credits fucking roll. I'm not enough for you and I don't like sharing, so what the fuck are we even doing here Jason? We are _killing_ each other. This is poisonous. I wish with my all of my sleepy little heart that it could be different, but it’s not.

I don't want to just sit at home reading while you go running around doing strip teases and burlesque dances for men you don't even know. Watch a movie alone while you go to sex clubs and wear latex and have, like, orgies or whatever it is you do at sex clubs. I have never belonged with you Jason. We're both young and hung and starry-eyed and that's where it starts and that's where it ends. You’re so much more than this. You take up a room, you command presence, you are in love with yourself and you fucking should be, because you're awesome. You and I, Jason? We don't work. We don't fit. We don't make sense. You hum with this, this _energy._ You're front lines, center stage, name in lights. And in the end, I'm just dumb blonde girl number twelve with the sleepy eyes and the attitude problem.”

Jason gapes, staggering backwards as he tries to process. “You're not,” He finally manages, cocking his head to the side. “You're not dumb blonde girl number twelve. And they're bedroom eyes. They're fucking hot. You don't have an attitude problem just because you stood up for yourself. That's balls, that's courage. You're so courageous. I have all this loud confidence, but you have this quiet assertiveness. And damn, Matt, you're so fucking beautiful.”

“Like that fucking means anything,” Matt shouts. “Like my nice skin and fortunate fucking bone structure are just going to carry me through the rest of my life on their shoulders.”

 “Stop it! You always fucking do this. I say something to you, something that's true, and you flip out and fucking run away from it. Stop running away from me!”

“There's nowhere to fucking go, Jason!” Matt yells, sinking back onto the couch.

“So listen to me.” The words fly out of Jason’s mouth, flapping desperately to Matt’s ears. “Hear me out. Want my take on all this? Here it is. That day, when I got really fucking drunk at that club and wanted you to have sex with me in the bathroom? I felt like you resented me. I still do. Like you were bitter about settling. You pushed me away, and I was pissed off and horny. So I got some random guy and gave him fifty dollars to come back to our hotel room and sleep with me. It didn't fucking mean anything. I wanted you to get mad and be a little jealous and, I don't know, rough me up a little bit. I wanted you to take ownership. I wanted you to admit to yourself that we weren't just two people messing in secret around anymore. And then I made you so sick that you fucking puked and locked yourself in the bathroom. I thought you died, but I heard you rolling around in there all night, tearing your fucking hair out. So, yeah, I left. Because I felt like a fuck-buddy. Do you know how much it royally sucks _ass_ to be a fuck-buddy?” Jason pauses, plucking at a loose strand of thread unraveling from his blouse.

“I didn't throw up because of you; I threw up because I was drunk.” Matt's voice is even, slow, careful.

“Well damn, _that_ would have been helpful to know.”

 “And I'm not the one who fucking settled.” Matt clenches his fists as he says it, burying his fingernails into his palms.

“Obviously,” Jason's eyes swoop upwards in a dramatic roll.

 “And you're not my fuck-buddy.”

“Then why are you so goddamned ashamed of me?”

The bus goes so silent then that Matt swears that he can hear the pavement outside straining to listen to his reply.

“I'm not ashamed. I told you, I'm scared.” Matt sighs, dragging his hands down his face. Defeat tastes surprisingly like leftover cherry lipstick.

Jason sighs too, falling back onto the couch. “I think I'm starting to understand now,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand along his neck. “It can't fail miserably if it never existed in the first place.”

Matt is small and quiet because there is honestly nothing left to say.


	11. a real, rational pattern of thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adore writes a song about smoothies, katya wears a fuzzy purple robe, max. feels. very. uncomfortable, closure

The next morning he knocks on Danny and Katya's hotel room door twelve times before it opens.

It's Katya, decked out in a purple fuzzy robe and tube socks. He steps around Matt with a comically large wink, quietly shuffling his way down the hall.

Matt is sure to shut the door carefully behind him. Danny is sprawled over his bed, lounging in boxers and Courtney Act tour shirt realness. He's intently watching an infomercial about blenders and he's got a hotel memo pad in front of him. He's bobbing his head, clicking his tongue and scribbling notes.

“Hi,” Matt's voice is rough and hoarse.

“What do you want?”

“To talk to you.”

“Party.” Danny's voice is dry, empty.

_MEGABLENDER can chop up to 12 carrots at once!_

“Where did Katya go?” Matt shuffles his feet, not sure where he's supposed to look.

“To get dick. Or ice. Not sure which.”

“Ah.”

_MEGABLENDER can even chop rocks!_

Danny hums, scratching the pen through a line of text with harsh finality.

“Are you writing a song about a fucking blender?” Matt stifles a snicker.

The pen stops moving. Danny is solemn, still. “No. But I am writing a song for Katya's third album, 'Different Foods that I Love and Hope You Do Too'. It's called Smoothie.”

Matt shakes with barely contained laughter. “I hope it's better than Ravioli, bitch.”

“It's _very_ that,” Danny retorts, clearly fighting the urge to smile.

The pen scribbles again and Matt breathes a little bit easier.

_Watch MEGABLENDER destroy a small watermelon!_

“I don't like not being around you. It fucking sucks.” Matt sighs. “I miss you.”

“Oh really?” Danny's mouth twitches up at the corners but his eyes never leave the screen. “Do tell.”

“I miss your corny fucking jokes and your endless stream of curses and your smile and your mermaid hair. I miss the way you tirelessly quote the zodiac, and I miss hearing you sing off-key in the shower to piss Courtney off. Most of-fucking-all, I miss those brownie points.”

The pen scratches to a halt.

“Look,” Matt holds up his hands, displaying the chipped silver polish still clinging on from the night before. “I need some polish remover back in my life bitch.”

Danny is clearly clamping down another smile. Matt has half a mind to tickle it out of him.

_MEGABLENDER can be ordered now with only two easy payments of 39.99! Yes, that's two easy payments of 39.99!_

“I'm sorry,” Matt finally pleads, falling to his knees in mock surrender and crawling over to Danny with his hands clasped together. “I'm sorry if I misled you, or if I hurt you or if I was just too damn beautiful for your chola eyes to handle, but I want us to be friends again. And would you turn off the damn infomercial and just look at me? Please?” Danny complies, his plush lips turning up into a wry grin.

“I'm sorry,” Matt repeats, grabbing Danny's ankle.

“I know,” Danny nods, wiggling his foot.

“I think. . . I think I might be in love with him.”

“I know,” Danny smiles softly. “You're still pretty fucking obvious girl.”

“God, I miss you,” Matt's voice cracks as Danny wiggles his nose ring.

“I miss you too, you rotted cunt!” Danny squeaks, hauling Matt onto the bed and into a tight hug. “Sorry I was such a cock-hungry dick pig.”

Matt grins, sending a playful wink Danny's way. “It's fine,” he slaps on an air of false breeziness, tossing his head up. “After all, everybody wants to fuck Pearl. I'm sort of used to it by now.”

“Speaking of everyone, Detoxxxxxxxx,” Danny sings, kicking his feet. “Detox totally wants to fuck you.”

Matt wrinkles his nose. “I only have room for one fantastic plastic in my life and unfortunately, Trixie Mattel has the space pretty much booked.”

Danny laughs. “I've never even met Trixie and I've barely been around Katya at all, but holy shit, Katya is in _mad_ love! They talked on the phone for like an hour this morning. Sappiest fucking shit I've ever heard.”

Matt melts happily, snuggling back into the pillow as Danny slips an arm around his waist. He can definitely get used to having this back.

\- - -

He tears himself away from Danny after they spend thirty minutes giggling like maniacs at shitty infomercials.

Danny whines and wiggles and makes grossly cute puppy eyes, but Matt has to leave; he's not quite done yet.

\- - -

It's Jason who opens the door, not Max.

Matt gulps, shifting wearily on his feet as Jason's sharp eyes travel carefully up and down, taking in Matt's sweatpants, his faded Alaska Thunderfuck shirt, his desperation.

“Um,” Matt starts. “Can I come in?”

Jason nods warily, pushing the door farther open and slipping back into the hotel room. Inside, Max is awake; bright and chipper and repacking his clothes.

“Who was at the door Vi-?” Max stops in his tracks, slowly laying the shirt he's folding on the bed as he comprehends the messy situation that's stretching out before him.

“Oh,” he mutters, brows furrowing. “Well, I do have to go and speak with Trix-, uh, _Katya_ , so if you would be _so_ kind as to excuse me. . .” and then the door is clicking shut behind him and Jason is standing and staring and waiting.

_Just talk to him, Buttmuffin._

“I, uh, thought a lot last night,” Matt says, resting gently on the corner of Max's bed.

Jason is silent.

“I tried to imagine me. Without you.”

Jason toys with a loose strand of hair, gnawing on his lip.

“And the thing is, I could.” Matt swallows. “Jase, you and I are very different. But also, we're sort of the same?”

Fuck, this had made so much more sense in the shower.

“Um, well. I, uh. What I'm trying to say is that I don't need you anymore.” Matt pauses, lets it settle. “I need oxygen and water and food and the occasional cigarette, but I don't need you because I have me. For the first time in a while, I am enough.”

Jason's brow furrows. He stares at the carpet with glassy eyes.

“I don't need you,” Matt states, strong and sure and confident. “I don't. As cliched as it fucking is, I don't.”

“FUCK, I get it, okay?” Jason snaps, a lone tear trailing across his face. “You don't need me. I understand. I'm not a fucking idiot. Now get out.”

Matt winces, holding up his hands to ward off another attack.

“Wait,” he whispers. “You didn't let me finish. I don't need you, but,” Matt rises to his feet, takes a step forward. “I want you. I want your hot fucking body. I want your tangled mess of hair. I want your fierceness, your confidence, your harsh honesty, your fragile fucking collarbones. I want you when it rains, I want you in the desert. I want you in the dirty fucking bathroom.”

Another tear rolls down Jason's face and Matt moves closer, within arms reach.

“I don't need you Jason. I don't need you, but the magical thing is that I want you more than all the things I need put together. And if you want strip teases and leather and lace and latex and sex clubs, then okay. Because all I want is you.” Jason's shoulders shake as he breaks and Matt leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead.

Jason's eyes go cold, hard. He shakes his head, his shoulders tensing up and folding together under the thin fabric of his shirt.

“I can't,” his voice wavers dangerously and tears streak across his face, shimmering on his upper lip. “I am so sorry Matt but I can't. I just can't. Too much. There's been too much. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for this.”

Matt freezes, breath catching in his lungs and shivering up his spine.

With a sob Jason jerks his shoulders, yanking himself away. In a rush he whirls to the door.

Matt just stops, hands still outstretched, Jason's perfume still burning his nose.

Jason is gone.

Matt is alone.

Now, he's done it. Now he's fucked everything up.

Now it's all over.

And Jason is sorry. He's sorry for even letting Matt think he had a chance. He's sorry for even entertaining the idea of JasonandMatt. Of _VioletandPearl_.

Matt is sorry too.

He's sorry that it took him so long to open his fucking eyes and see. He's sorry that he even tried feeling, even tried to be alive, even tried at all.

He's sorry that he's failed.

He's sorry that Jason is hurt.

He's sorry that, no matter what, there will never be enough apologies to fix this.

So this must just be a gay porn after all. They met, flirted shabbily, fucked for a while. And now the credits are rolling, and there's no way Matt could have possibly prepared himself for this.

_You either have it, or you don't._

Beauty is toxic. Pain is raw. Both are real.

_Love is all about pain._

_Isn't it about happiness, though? And trust and romance and sex and shit._

_That's the funny thing about happiness Matt. Without pain, it doesn't exist at all._

\- - -

Time passes.

Matt cries.

Time keeps passing.

Matt keeps crying.

\- - -

There's a knock.

Matt trudges to the door, eyes dull.

(Tap. Wake. Tap. Up. Tap. Pearl.)

It's Max, he thinks. Here to grab his shirt.

Or maybe it's Jason, here to tell him to get the fuck out of his hotel room.

Matt waits an eternity before grabbing the knob. The cold metal of the door handle bites his palm.

It's Jason. Matt clenches his teeth, braces himself to be crushed.

Jason takes a deep breath, inhaling oxygen into every pore of his body.

“Hello,” he smiles as he throws his hand out, tears still shining in his eyes. “My name is Jason Dardo and you are beautiful.”

The pressure stabs into Matt's chest as he takes the offered hand. He shakes it slowly, savoring the contact.

“Hi,” he chokes. “My name is Matthew James Lent and I think I'm in love with you.”

A slow flush creeps into Jason's cheeks and his eyebrow curves upwards. “How awfully forward.” He bats his eyelashes playfully, the perfect Georgian debutante.

Matt swallows his fear and holds fast to his courage. “It's true,” he shrugs with a weak smile.

A pause.

“So much happened with us,” Jason sobers up for a moment, taking a deep breath. “So much happened, so much shit. But I'm not quite ready for this to be over yet. So I figured we should start over. Give it another go. Or something.” He shrugs nervously, gathering his arms protectively across his chest.

Tears blur Matt's vision, threatening to spill over his eyes and drip from his chin. “I am in love with you,” he croaks. “I have been since that very first day in the fucking workroom. I have been since your shitty-ass entrance and that fucking purple dress.”

“Oh la la, la la la la.” Jason smiles, reaching out to card his fingers through Matt's hair. “You didn't even see my entrance until the season aired, you cunt,” he laughs. “And yours was pretty fucking awful too!”

“Sup,” Matt grins.

“C'mon chinstrap,” Jason bites his lip. The emotion bleeding in his eyes catches Matt off guard, and he falls back against the door frame, crumpling a little.

They just stare quietly at each other for a while.

“We,” Matt begins slowly, “don't need to forget. We _can't_ forget. Too much has happened.”

Jason nods, face falling as he shuffles and shifts his feet. “I get it. I do.”

“But,” Matt whispers, “we can move forward.”

Jason looks up, hope shivering on his face.

Without a real, rational pattern of thought, Matt grabs Jason's wrist, dragging him into the room. Jason blinks away his bewilderment and kicks the door closed with his foot, allowing himself to be pulled into Matt's chest with a tiny, yet dazzling, smile.

Matt is pretty sure he's dreaming, or tripping, or dead. Or something.

He'll be waking up any moment and he'll find himself in a shadowy back alley with a needle sticking out of his arm and a death wish pressed against his lips. He shakes a little bit, pressing his forehead against Jason's.

Jason pulls his face away, his eyes are shining and wet.

“You are unstoppable. Unstoppable.” Jason presses his cold palms against Matt's flushed cheeks. “You are unstoppable and I am so, so, fucking in love with you.”

Then he surges forward, slotting their lips together. They fall back and Matt lands on the mattress with a gasp and a hollow thud.

They waste no time before they are smiling and laughing and kissing and touching everywhere and Matt just might explode because Jason is right here and Matt will be damned if he's going to let him go anywhere anytime soon.

Things heat up quickly; the thirst is palpable, the passion is undeniable, the fire is almost unquenchable. Matt rolls over, pinning Jason in with his hips. They bump and grind and gasp and feel.

They are alive and awake and Jason is here and Matt has never been more glad of anything in his entire life.

They are pulled out of their frantic rutting and choked moans by a strangled cough.

“Um. . . “ Max's usually pale skin is bright red. “I feel very uncomfortable.”

And then he turns on his heel and practically runs from the room.

Jason tips his head back from where his mouth has been traveling up Matt's neck and laughs, a deep, throaty, gasping noise that is honey to Matt's ears. It's been too long since he's heard that. Far, far too long.

Jason howls and gasps and chokes on his laughter, kicking his feet up and down on the bed in a Katya-esque fit.

Matt presses his smile into Jason's heaving chest and takes it all in.

Jason's heart beats wildly against Matt's lips, humming and laughing and singing.

And, if Matt listens carefully, he thinks can hear his own heart singing right back.

His heart.

It's busy pumping blood through his veins and into his arteries and keeping him awake and conscious and alive.

Alive.

Alive, he's fucking alive, how great is that?

How wonderful and magical and beautiful is that?

 _Sing on you little fuck_ , he thinks as he watches the sunlight bounce off of Jason's collarbones and his heart patters and warbles and creates its own little symphony in his chest. _Sing on._

And sing on it does.

Their lips touch, rasping and dragging until bruises form.

Their teeth shine, glinting and nipping until moans ring out.

Their hearts pound, thumping and hollering until it's like they are just one large, musical being.

They cling to each other and hold fast, breathing in the tang of sweat, the musty sheen of arousal.

And it's a damn good thing that they have no shows tonight or tomorrow because they lie there until long after the sun has fallen alseep and the moon has woken up and risen to light the stars in the sky.

And the funny thing is?

And Matt isn't tired at all. Not one little bit.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm thinking an epilogue, just for final closure  
> i hope this was worth it and i hope that you all enjoyed yourselves  
> have a grand old day darlings <3  
> come see me on tumblr for more :}  
> (http://fuck-yeah-drag-queens.tumblr.com)


	12. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is it, thanks for everything

They walk out of their hotel room hand in hand. 

Their fingers are wound together like the roots of two trees, solid and real and anchoring. This feels right, this feels real. This feels like it should have the whole time. Jason's smile is like a jewel, glittering and bright. Matt's smile is lazy, reptilian, but there's a twinkle hiding in his eyes. 

They step onto the tour bus, one after the other, and brace themselves. 

It's quiet for a split second, and then everything happens all at once. 

Danny grins, Katya slaps Matt's ass, Max blushes heavily. Willam rolls his eyes and makes a vaguely rude but loving gesture, Bianca grumbles and hands Courtney a crumpled wad of cash. 

Jason beams. 

Matt is sort of floating, everything is fuzzy and warm. He plops himself on the couch, Jason on his right, his feet kicked up in Matt's lap. Danny sinks into the couch on his left, tucking his feet into Matt's lap too. Jason smirks a little, poking Danny's foot with his big toe. Matt freezes. Fuck. 

“Play nice girls!” Bianca laughs, tossing a crumpled up page from his newspaper at Danny. It misses by a mile and smacks Matt on the head. Laughter erupts, a lovely mix of Katya's crowing, Willam's nasally wheeze and Bianca's hyena cackle. Jason hides his smile in Matt's neck and Danny and Max are too busy making the strangest, warmest, faces at each other to even giggle and Matt is so very, very happy. 

The bus groans to a start and they're on their way again. 

Matt is beginning to think that now, everything may be wonderful. 

Then, as if on cue, the bus grumbles to a stop. 

"This is what happens!" Willam shouts. "This is what happens when you one too many cunts on one bus. It's bound to break down from pure talent."

Bill rises calmly from his seat and starts to hobble towards them. He places a wrinkly hand on Matt's shoulder and Matt freezes. 

"Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you for opening your eyes son. All the drunken shouting was starting to really give me a headache."

Katya starts howling again, clapping her hands wildly and kicking her feet in the air as Matt flushes bright red and Jason hides his face. Bill wobbles back to his seat and the bus purrs into motion.  
\- - -  
Pearl and Violet stumble and giggle their way into the hotel room after the show. They had politely ducked out of going to the club and they're still tripping over their heels and swiping at their makeup with hapless hands. 

They change in silence, unpinning their wigs and sliding out of their pantyhose. Jason finishes first and falls back on the bed with a sigh. 

His gaze is hot, his lips are pursed. Matt smirks and bites his lip as he slides out of his heels. Jason plays at gagging, tucking his chin into his neck and clucking his tongue. Matt laughs and Jason's eyebrows raise. Come through, he mouths through another dazzling smile. 

Yes, Matt thinks as he clambers into the bed, curling up into Jason's reedy arms, now maybe everything is wonderful. 

It's not perfect, Matt knows. It's a far shot from perfect, in fact. Nothing is perfect, no one is perfect. It's silly to think that something between two imperfect people could ever be perfect. But it's even sillier not to try anyways. 

This isn't perfect, but it will be more than enough. 

And isn't that all they ever wanted in the first place? Enough. 

Enough to prance around in dresses and heels and make some money doing it, enough to perform their art, enough to be around their friends, enough to be around each other. 

This life they've chosen for themselves is no luxury. It's hard, it's taxing. But they love it, they love each other. So it's perfect. 

Perfect enough.

They did it. They came through.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up at my tumblr justsweepitallup to request pairings and such 
> 
> ( http://fuck-yeah-drag-queens.tumblr.com/ )


End file.
